
aass- Q t J / 



^^ 






FRIEND OF YOUTH 



NEW SELECTION OF LESSONS, 

IN PROSE AND VERSE, 

FOR 

SCHOOLS AND FAMILIES, 

TO 
IMBUE THE YOUNG 

WITH 

SENTIMENTS OF PIETY, HUMANITY, 

AND 

UNIVERSAL BENEVOLENCE. 



BY NOAH WORCESTER, D. D. 



BOSTON : 



PUBLISHED BY CUMMINGS AND HILLIARD, 
Boston Bookstore, No. 1 Comhill. 

1822. 



^■^x^^^ 



^% 



50448 



DISTRICT OF MASSACHUSETTS, TO WIT. 

District Clerk's Office. 

Be it remembered, that on the fifth day of August A. D. 1822, and in 
the forty-seventh year of the independence of the United States of Ameri- 
ca, Noah Worcester, D. D. of the said district has deposited in this office 
the title of a book, the right whereof he claims as author, in the words 
following, to wit : 

" Friend of Youth ; or new selection of lessons, in prose and verse, for 
schools and families, to imbue the young with sentiments of piety, humanity, 
and universal benevolence. By Noah Worcester, D. D." 

In conformity to the act of the Congress of the United States, entitled 
" An act for the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of maps, 
charts, and books, to the authors and proprietors of such copies, during the 
times therein mentioned ;" and also to an act, entitled " An act supplement- 
ary to an act, entitled An act for the encouragement of learning, by securing 
the copies of maps, charts, and books, to the authors and proprietors of such 
copies, during the times therein mentioned, and extending the benefits thereof 
tt) the arts of designing, engraving, and etching historical and other prints.'' 

JOHN W. DAVIS, 
Clerk of the district of Massackwettn. 




RECOiMiMENDATlONS. 

The following recommendations are from /Ar^e Professors of KaF- 
rard University, twelve Ministers of the Gospel, and T. G Fessen- 
den, Esq. 

Harvard College, .August 20, 1822. 

. Having examined with attention the Book wJiich you are now Dub- 
hshing under the title of '^ Friend of Youth," we have ieat 
satisfaction m recommending it to the use of families and the hther 
classes m schools,^ as being eminently calculated for these purposes 
by the variety of mteresting matter it furnishes, and the excellency 
ot Its religious and moral design. Believing it to be better calculated 
man any other selection with which we are acqainted, to interest 
young readers, and to give a right direction to their minds, we hope it 
will be duly estimated by the public, and generally introduced into 
our academies and schools. 

Henry Ware, 

T, n rrr LeVI HeDGE. 

Rev. Dr. Worcester. Sidney Willard. 

We the subscribers, Members of the Association in and about Cam- 
bridge having had opportunity of examining the School Book, lately 
compiled by Rev Dr. Worcester, entitled, - Friend of Youth - 
are of opinion, that it is calculated to inform the young mind on 
vanous useful and important subjects, and is favorable to the cause of 

^oThpE' JJr v"^ P'"/>^^ ^"? ''^ ^« accordingly recommend i 
to the use of the higher classes of the schools of our favored country^ 

Charles Stearns. 
E. Ripley. 

Jonathan Homer. 
John Foster. 
Samuel Ripley. 
Tho3ias B. Gannet. 

nf Vo^ti"'^'''''^"'' l'^''^ V^-^^^^A a small volume entitled ^^ Friend 

aL Smiiie'-l'^T^'' w" '^ ^"^^^"^ ''' P^°^^ '^"^ ''^''^^ ^^v schools 
and tarailies ; by i^oAH Worcester, D. D."— We have been nleasprf 
with the design, the spirit, and the execution of the work xfe 
sons are happily calculated to engage the attention of the reader and 
mingle entertainment with instru'ction : extendedviewsofle works 
o. nature and Providence awaken a devout regard to the Supreme 
Creator, Governour, and Preserver of all; and a variety of striking 
erTetcdliVo'"'^'-^'^.^"^^^^^.^^'^ circumstalf of mln! 

^^ntTlm'f'e.''ani^^?.Mf "Y ^' '^"^V^? ^" ^^'^°°^^ ^"^ introduced ' 
-nio iamil.es, and that the endeavours of its author to promote peace, 



iv Hecommendations. 

charity and youthful knowledge and virtue, may meet with encour* 
ageraent and be crowned with success. ^ 

Thaddeus Mason Harris. 

Edward Richmond. 

Thomas Gray. 

John Codman. 

Lemuel Capen. 
Dorchester, Mass. August, I6th 1822. 

My dear sir, Brookline, 16 jliigust, 1822. 

Your " Friend of Youth" 1 have read with great 
satisfaction. From the soundness of its principles, the purity of its 
style, and its judicious variety, it appears to be admirably adapted 
to its objects. - Unlike those school books, which inculcate false 
sentiments of honour, and which abound in unqualified commen- 
dation of martial exploits, it breathes the genuine spirit of the gospel, 
^' peace on earth and good will oward men." As such it deserves 
to become a standard work in our schools. With hearty good wishes 
for the success of all your benevolent projects, I am your friend and 
brother. 

J-OHN Pierce. 

Rev. Noah Worcester, D. D. 

Sir, Boston, August 19, 1822. 

My friend, Mr. Gould, some days since, gave me for perusal, 
a work which I understand was written and compiled by you, enti- 
tled " Friend or Youth." I have read it with much pleasure, and 
am happy to give my sincere approbation both to its design and exe- 
cution. The paci/ic spirit, Avhich it breathes throughout, adds greatly 
to its value in my opinion, as well as gives it a decided advantage 
over most books of a similar sort, which I have ever perused. War, 
tjie great stigma and scourge of humanity, has its strongest and I be- 
lieve only tenable fortress, founded on public opinion, improperly 
biassed by wrong modes of education. If children were early and 
universally taught to regard war with that abhorrence, w^hich is justly 
its due, it would soon cease to exist, except in the annals of what 
would then be considered as barbarous ages. What is now consid- 
ered as a glorious mode of terminating public controversies would 
then stand lower in public estimation, than trial by ordeal, judicial 
torture, wager of battle, he, once deemed as hereditary appendages 
to poor depraved humanity, as war is now thought to be by its warmest 
and most sanguinary advocates. Any services in my power to pro- 
mote the circulation of the "Friend of Youth" will be most cheer- 
fully rendered. 

With the highest esteem and respect. 
Your obedient servant, 

Thos. G. Fessenden. 

Rev. Noah Worcester. 



INTRODUCTION. 

Many books have already been compiled for the use of 
schools and families. But such is the progress of knowl- 
edge and sentiment, that books composed or compiled by 
men are ever susceptible of improvement ; and a fre- 
quent change of books for reading in schools is of greater 
importance than is generally imagined. 

In selecting and preparing materials for the Friend of 
Youth, it was my aim to compile a work both useful 
and entertaining, adapted to the capacities of the higher 
classes in common schools, and worthy of a place in family 
libraries. Should this book be found acceptable to the 
public, a smaller work may be expected for tlie lower class- 
es in schools, and for little children in general. 

In copying from various authors, liberty has been taken 
to abridge, by the omission of such paragraphs, sentences, 
or clauses, as were deemed incompatible with the design of 
the work, or not intelligible to children. 

I have thought it improper to admit any passages which 
were tinctured with obscenity or profaneness ; or which 
have the appearance of countenancing irreverence towards 
God, or cruelty to man or beast. Children have opporta 
nities more than enough for becoming acquaintrd with the 
dialect of the irreligious, licentious, and profane, without 
the aid of a preceptor, or the sanction of a school book. 

In this compilation, it has been a particular object to im- 
bue the minds of the young with just conceptions of God, as 

a Father,whGse tender mercies are over ail his works, with 
ft* 



vi Introduction, 

benevolence towards all mankind, as brethren of one fatn- 
ily, and with humane sentiments towards the various tribes 
of animals, as the creatures, and the care of God. 

Two numbers of the work were extracted from the dis- 
courses of our Savior, These are exhibited in Dr. Camp- 
bell's translation ; not from any disrespect for the common 
version, but from a belief that the novelty of style and ex- 
pression would excite in children more attention to the im- 
port of the passages, than if expressed in a form of words 
already familiar to their minds. This belief was derived 
from experience, and from observation. 

For borrowed articles, credit is given to their respective 
authors, or to the works from which they were taken. 
But to prevent any misapprehension, it may be proper to 
observe, that when a Number contains both prose and verse, 
and the name of the poet only is given, he is not to be re- 
garded as the writer of the prose in the same Number. 

If I have not unintentionally departed from my own 
purpose, the work will be found free from every thing 
which would indicate the dominion of party spirit in the 
compiler, either in respect to politics or religion. 

Though I have not been sparing of labor to render the 
work both useful and pleasing to the young, and inoffensive 
to all good people ; yet it is to be expected that different 
persons will judge differently as to its claims to public 
patronage. But whatever may be its merits or its defects, 
it is now respectfully submitted to the examination of my 
fellow citizens. 

N. W, 



CONTENTS. 

Number. p^^^ 

1 . General Rules for Reading - _ . - _ ° 1 

2. Invitation to the Young 



3. The Importance of Letters. Steele 



4. Importance of good Instructers « _ - .. _ g 

8 
7. Di\dne Instructions by Jesus Christ 



5. Dialogue between two Scholars - - - - _ o 

6. Improvements in the means of knowledge 
Di\dne Instructions by Jesus Christ ^ - . _ - " 12 
Poetry. Miss Williams - . _ _ _ _ 2^ 

8. All animals the work and care of God - - _ 15 

9. Cruelty to Animals. Pope - - - - . - 1 8 
Poetry. Ovid translated by Dry den - _ _ _ 20 

10. Eulogium on Christ and the Gospel. Rousseau 

11. Opposition between War and the Gospel. Parish - . 23 



21. 



PoetrJ^ Herald of Peace - - - . - _ £4 

12. Pleasures of Spring. Tickell, Thomson - - -- - 

13. Proper sense of Honor. Addison - - . - 27 



25 



Poetry. Cowper 

14. Divine compassion illustrated by Parables - - - 30 

15. Greenlanders' Proof of a God - - - . - " - 32 

16. Loo Choo Islanders - - _ _ _ « ."00 
Poetry. Gillard - - _ _ - " . 

17. Character of Numa Pompilius 
Poetrj-. Herald of Peace - - - _ 

18. Society of Animals. Smellie - - . . 

1 9. Fable, the Bee, the Ant and the Sparrow. Gay - . - 42 

20. Corruption of News writers Johnson - - . - " 4'J 

21. Ode to God. Derzhaven JL 

22. The Wliale. Goldsmith - " ^° 

23. Smallest of known animals. Vieth - - - - ^^ 

24. A Battle. Quincy - - . - . _ . "rV 
Poetry Porteus 

25. Fascinating power of serpents. Barton - - . _ " -^ 

26. Importance of Christian Education 



Poetry. Bivight ^° 

Influence of Education in regard to appetites and passi 
Influence of Education in respect to the love of God 



27. Influence of Education in regard to appetites and passions - 60 

28. Influence of Education in respect to the love of God - -63 

29. Love to mankind an important branch of Education 



30. Influence of Education and habit on horses and dogs. Percy » €6 
Poetry. Coiqyer ^ ^ 



viii Contents. 

Number. P<^gei'. 

31. Effects and influence of war. Channirtg. - - ^ 68 
Poetry. Polemantios 

32. Motion of Plants. Smellie - - - - - 73. 

33. Varieties of the Human Race. Goldsmith - - - - 74 

34. Rights and Duties of Rulers. Blakslee - - - - 77 
Poetry. Lomonosov 

35. Pride not made for man. Addison - - - - 79 
Poetry. Cowper 

36. Remarks on Patriotism. Galliso7i - - - - - 81 

37. The Elephant. Harris ------- 85 

Poetry. O^^nan. Thomson 

38. Hippopotamus. Hartis - - - - - - -87 

Poetry. Scott. 

59. Encouragement to use means for preventing war. Moore - 88 

40. Reflection on Fire Works. Addison - - - - 91 

41. Citizens of New England bound to support liberty and correct 

abuses. Webster -------92 

Poetry. Cowper 

42. Humanity to captives improved - - - - - 96 

43. Extracts from Russian poetry ------ 98 

44. Volcano rising from the bottom of the ocean. Clarke - 101 

45. Address to God in view of his works. Fenelon - - - 103 

46. Height of remarkable mountains - - - - - 106 

47. On the death of a friend. Johnson - - - - - 107 
Poetry. Catskill ilecorder - - - - - - 109 

48. Kentucky Cavern. Clarke .---.- no 

49. Celebration of Victories - - - - - - 112 

50. Ice islands and Ice bergs. Clarke - - - - -115 

51. Noble Monument - - - - - - - 117 

Poetry. Montgomery 

52. Elizabeth Fry. Percy - - - - - - 120 

53. Wier's Cave. Calvin Jones - - - -- -122 

54. IBest way to bear calumny. Addisoii - - - - 1 24 
65. State of society in the 15th century. Tytler - - - 126 

56. Messiah and Mahomet - - - - - - 127 

Poetry. Aiken 

57. TheStorlc. Harris ----,-.- 130 

58. The Ostrich. Harris and Goldsmith - - - - 131 

59. Letter from Pliny to Paternus - - - - - 132 

60. Remarkable Trees - .- _ - _ -134 

61. False sentiments on National Honor. Chayining - - 139 

62. Docility of animals. SmcUie - - - - - -142 

63. Salt Mines in Cracow. Clm^ke - - - - - 147 

64. Coal Mines. Clarke - - - - - - -149 

65. Husbandly favorable to piety. Buckminster - - - 1 50 



Contents. x 

Number. Pages 

66. Eulogium on Wm. Penn. Duponceau - - - -152 

67. Battle of Borodino. Porter and Labaume - - - 155 
Poetry. Herald of Peace - - - - - - 156 

68. Whirlpool. Goldsmith - - - - - - - 159 

69. Abolition of Female Infanticide - - - - - 161 

70. Remarkable Rivers - - - - -- ~ 163 

Poetry. Vincent 

71. Poetic Addresses to Animals. Fawcett. Smith. Burns - 165 

72. Telemachus - - 173 

Poetry. Elegant extracts 

73. Meteors. Clarke -.- - - - - --175 

74. Aerolites. Clarke - - - - " - -176 

75. Scene at Beresina. Labaume - - - - - 177 

76. The Safet}- Lamp - - - - - ' - - 179 

77. Calumny a heinous crime - - - - - -182 

78. Indian Catechising > - - - - - - 184 

79. Fable of the Turkey and the Ant. Gay - - - - 187 

80. The love of Martial Glory - - - - - 188 
Poetry. Young 

81. Mount Etna. Garke - - - - - - 190 

82. Useful and entertaining Anecdotes. Percy - - - 192 

83. Importance of self-cultivation. Brit. Mag. - - - 198 

84. Good Rulers a substitute for Fleets and Armies - - - 1 95 
Poetry. Derzhaven 

85. Cotopaxi. Clarke - - - - - - -198 

86. A winter evening in Iceland. ^ri^wA 3/a^. - - - 199 
Poetry. Elegant Extracts 

87. Trophies of Victory ------- 201 

Poetry. Pope 

88. Specimens of Indian Eloquence. Heckewelder and Boudinot 204 

89. Example or the Power of Custom - - - - 206 
Poetry. J. Scott 

90. One hundred Varieties of Verse - - - - - 210 

91. Dangerous influence of Party Passions - • - - 233 
Poetry. Vermont Intelligencer 

92. Volcanoes in the Island of Java. Clarke - - - - 237 

93. Natural and Martial Volcanoes compared - - - 239 

94. The Wild Girl - - - - - - - - 241 

95. Amiable Traits in the character of the Indians. Heckewelder 243 

96. The benevolent John Howard _ - - - - 245 
Poetr}'. Aiken 

97. Effects of Christianity on an Indian Chief. Heckewelder - 247 

98. IMistakes of men of Humane feelings. Percy - - - 249 

99. Remarkable Works of Art. Percy - - - - 250 

100. Fire of Baku. Pleasing Preceptor ----- 252 

101. Monitions on the flight of Time. Johnson - - .- 2^3 



Contents, 



Number. 



102. Pitch Lale and Mud Lake. Clarke - - - - 255 

103. Leviathan or Crocodile. Goldsmith - _ . _ 256 
Poetry. Scott 

104. Archbishop Sharpe and the Robber. Percy - - - 257 

105. Golden Verses of Pythagoras. Fitzgerald - - - 259 

106. A glorious Example in Washington - - ^ - 260 

107. Sleep. Johnson ---_-._ 262 

108. The Boa Constrictor. Clarice - - _ . - 264 

109. Means for diminishing the crimes and miseries of Man - 265 

110. The Vulture's Farewell to her children. JbAwson -' - 267 
Poetry. Graham 

111. Remarkable reformation of a Prince - - - _ 270 

112. Dialogue, Romulus and Numa. JVwe^ow - . - 272 

113. The Mirage. Clarke ----,.. 274 

114. The Man of Ross. Pope- - - - - - 216 

115. Progress of public opinion - - - _ _ _ 277 

116. The Shepherd's way to wisdom. Gay - - - _ 279 

117. Time. H. J^, WhUe - - - - - - - 280 

118. Clement and his son Zima _ _ - - _ 281 

119. Address to Mothers. CoUon -----_ 284 

120. Anecdotes of Humanity. Percy - - _ _ Hid, 

121. The Mimic or Mocking-bird. Wilson - _ - - 285 
322. The Wild Boar and the Ram. Gflj/ - - - - 287 

123. Pliny's Eulogy of the earth _ _ - _ - 289 
Poetry. Millhouse 

124. A Paraphrase on Ps, Ixxiv. 16,17. Williams - - 290 

125. On Gfaming. Cotton ----_> 291 

126. Curiosities of Chili. Molina - _ ^ - _ jj/^, 

127. The village Preacher. Goldsmith - - - - 29S 

128. The Thumb. Sampson - - - - - - 295 

J 29. Farewell to the young - - - - - _ 297 



Talle of the United Stat 



es. 



XI 



TABLE OF THE UNITED STATES, 

.,-„^isoa'"?/''^ ""?^^'' ^^ '^"""''^ ''''^'' ^« e^ch state ; the population 
-m 1820; the populatton to a square mile; the number of slZs Zd 
the number of representatives in congress ' 



1. 

2. 

3. 

4. 

5. 

6. 

7. 

8. 

9. 
10. 
11. 
12. 
13. 
14. 
15. 
16. 
17. 
18. 
19. 
20. 
21. 
22. 
23. 
24. 



Maine 

New Hampshire 
Vermont 
Massachusetts 
Rhode Island 
Connecticut 
New York 
New Jersey- 
Pennsylvania 
Delaware 
Maryland 
Vii'ginia 
North Carolina 
South Carolina 
Georgia 
Alabama 
Mississippi 
Louisiana 
Tennessee 
Kentucky 
Ohio 
Indiana 
Illinois 
Missouri 



Sq. m. 

32,600 

9,500 

10,200 

7,500 

1,350 

4,700 

46,000 

8,300 

44,000 

2,100 

14,000 

64,000 

48,000 

28,000 

60,000 

46,000 

45,000 

48,000 

40,000 

42,000 

39,000 

37,000 

52,000 

60,000 



Pop. 

in 1820. 

298,000 

244,000 

236,000 

523,000 

83,000 

275,000 

1,373,000 

278,000 

1,049,000 

73,000 

407,000 

1,055,000 

639,000 

503,000 

341,000 

128,000 

75,000 

153,000 

423,000 

564,000 

581,000 

147,000 

55,000 

67,000 



Pop. to 

Sq. m. 

9 

26 

23 

70 

61 

58 

30 

34 

24 

35 

29 

17 

13 

18 
6 
3 

^* 

9 
13 
15 

4 

1 

1 



Slaves. 


Rep. 





7 





6 





5 





13 


48 


2 


97 


6 


10,008 


34 


7,555 


6 


211 


26 


4,509 


1 


107,398 


9 


425,153 


22 


205,017 


13 


258,475 


9 


149,642 


7 


41,879 


2 


32,814 


1 


69,064 


3 


80,107 


9 


126,732 


12 





14 


190 


3 


917 


1 


10,222 


1 



Total nearly 790,000 



Population 



212 



Towns. 
New York 
Philadelphia 
Baltimore 
Boston 
New Orleans 
Charleston 



Pop. 

123,700 

108,000 

63,700 

43,300 

27,200 

24,800 

The total population 

territories of Michigan 

was 9,638,166. 



of the 18 princ 

Towns. 
Salem 
Albany 
Richmond 
Providence 
Cincinnati 
Portland 
of the United 
and Arkansas, 



ipal towns in 1820. 



Pop. Towns. Porj 

12,700 Norfolk 8 500 

12,600 New Haven 8;300 

12,000 Savannah 7 500 

11,800 Portsmouth 7^300 

9,600 Newport 7,300 

8,600 Pittsburg 7 200 

States, in 1820, includino- the 

and the District of Columbia, 

Worcester's Geography, 



ERRATA. 

Since the Numbers were printed, some errors have been discovered. In 
No. 7. p. 12. this important text, " Happy the clean in heart ; for they shall 
see God," was unintentionally omitted. 

Page 18, line 10, in some copies th is lost in breath ; and in the last line 
of the same p. and is repeated. 

" 35 " 1 9, read unfrequent. 

« 55 " 1, in some copies/ is lost in o/: 

" 91 " 25, for have read had. 

« 94 " 30, for Then read The. 

" 136 " 14, for horses red.A houses. 

" 206 " 23, for Baudinot ved,A Boudinot. 

" 208 " 12, for their read there. 

" 234 " 20, for are read is, for effects read effect. 

" 285 " 2, from bottom, in some copies t is lost in brilliant, 

N. B. Good writers being divided in opinion as to the propriety of omit- 
ting u m favour, honour, and a few other words ; some diversity in spelling 
the same words has been admitted in the following Numbers, 



FRIEND OF YOUTH. 



•IVo. 1. General Rules for Reading. 

1. In reading, adopt as nearly as possible such modes of 
utterance, as would be most natural and proper in speaking 
the same sentiments to your hearers. 

2. Read with such deliberation, as to pronounce distinct- 
ly every word and every syllable. 

3. Read so loud that all your hearers may clearly un- 
derstand what words you attempt to utter. 

4. Endeavour to understand what you read, and to ex- 
press the meaning of the writer, in a manner both 2;raceful 
and impressive. 

5. imitate the best readers and speakers, in their modu- 
lation ol the voice, their accents and pauses, their emphasis 
and cadence. 

6. Read as in the presence of your Maker— grateful for 
the pr-vilege allowed you— with a desire to correct your er- 
rors, and to improve your mind, your heart, and your life, 

1. In natural tones of voice for speaking well. 
So ever read—i{ you would e'er excel. 

2. Avoid rapidity and read so slow, 

That with distinctness every word shall flow. 
3 Pronounce so loud, so forcibly and clear. 

That all around— except the deaf— may hear. 
4. lake heed to know your author's sentiments,-- 

Ihentoyour hearers clearlygive the sense. 
' ^a;u "^^®* accomphsh'd speakers imitate. 

Whatever be their rank in church or state. 



Invitation to the Young, 

6. In all you read, let these be your desires, 
To mend your heart, and do what God requires. 

4non. 



JVb. 2. Invitation to the Young. 

The book which is now put into your hands, is designed 
to make you wiser and better; to give you some just views 
of your Maker and his wonderful works, and to teach you 
the path of duty, and the way to be happy. 

You are, therefore, affectionately invited to read it with 
care, that you may imbibe the sentiments of pi|2ty, and vir- 
tue, candor and humanity, which you will find Recommend- 
ed by many good writers. 

Much, very much is depending on the sentiments which 
you shall cherish, and the habits you shall form in this sea- 
son of youth ; — much in respect to your own welfare, the 
happiness of those around you, and the best good of future 
generations. 

To be truly happy, you must be truly good, — avoiding 
the paths of vice, dissipation and cruelty, devoting your- 
selves to God, and to the service of your generation by the 
will of God. 

Let your minds be deeply and constantly impressed with 
a sense of that goodness of God which gave you being, which 
upholds your lives, which supplies your wants, and which 
offers you pardon and eternal life in Jesus Christ. 

Let a sense of the daily kindness of God to you, induce 
ou to study to please him in all your ways, and to imitate 
is kindness in your treatment of one another, and in your 
conduct towards all mankind. 

Let it also be impressed on your minds, that the various 
tribes of animals which are subjected to the use of man, 
are the creatures of a good God, who requires you to be 
merciful even as he is merciful, and who cannot but be dis- 
pleased, if you take pleasure in torturing the creatures of 
his care. 

If either of you needlessly afflict or torment one of your 
neighbor's horses, or dogs, would he not have reason to be 



hi 



Invitation to the Young. 3 

displeased ? How much more then shall God be displeased 
when hp beholds such cruelty exercised towards his crea- 
tures ? 

If any beings, as much above you as you are above the 
bests, should' torment you for sport, appoint shooting 
matchps, and set you up alive as marks to shoot at, — what 
would you think oT such creatures ? '•^^ould you not rath- 
er reeard them as devils, than as good beings ? 

In what light then should those men or boys be viewed, 
who find pleasure in making inferior animals miserable ? 
Thev have no more right to do so, than angels have to 
make sport for themselves by tormenting mankind. 

If you cultivate in your hearts sentiments of piety, be- 
nevolence and humanity, — if you make it your delight to 
please God, to do good to men, and to be kind to inferior 
animals, — God will bless you with his smiles, and you will 
find much pleasure in beholding the happiness of others. 

But if you indulge a disposition to forget God, to delight v 
in cruelty and mischief, — you will be exposed to the dis- 
pleasure of God and man, and be deprived of those sub- 
lime joys, which result from the exercise of benevolent and 
hu-nane atFections. 

Cherish, also, in your hearts a sacred regard for truth 
and honesty in all you say and do. Let it never be said of 
any one of you — " He is known to be a liar, and a dis- 
honest child ; no body can place any confidence in 
what he says, nor trust him any farther than he can be 
seen." When childi^en arrive to such a pitch of wicked- 
ness, that such things may be justly said of them, they are 
undone. 

But how happy is that child, of whom it may be truly 
said — " He loves and fears God ; he is a friend to every 
body — he delights in doing good, and in making others 
happy — he never told a lie in his life — he may be safely 
trusted with untold gold to any amount :" Such a child 
will always be respected, and God will be his friend 

It is wished that all who read this book may be of this 
amiable character; and it is believed that the book con- 
tains many things, which, if properly studied and reduced 
to practice, will contribute much to your happiness, both in 
this world and in the world to come. — Take heed then 
what you read, and how you read. 



4 Importance of Letters, 

Read for yourselves, with a sincere desire to get good, 
and to do good — remembering that the characters you shall 
form now in youth will probably be as lasting as your exist- 
ence. 

T \rould resolve with all my heart, 
With all my powers to serve the Lordj 
Nor from thy precepts e'er depart 
Whose service is a rich reward. 

O may I never faint nor tire, 
Nor wander from thy sacred ways ! 
Great God, accept my soul's desire. 
And give me strength to live thy praise. 

Mrs, Steele* 



JVo. 3. The importance of Letters. 

On taking a view of the several species of living crea- 
tures, we may easily observe, that the lower orders, such 
as insects and fishes, are wholly without the power of mak- 
ing known their wants and calamities. 

Others, which are^conversant with man, have some few 
ways of expressing pleasure and pain, by certain sounds 
and gestures. 

But man has articulate sounds, whereby to make known 
his inward sentiments and affections. 

The use of letters, as significative of these sounds, is 
such an additional improvement, that I know not whether 
we ought not to attribute the invention to the assistance of 
a power more than human. 

There is this great difficulty, which could not but attend 
the first invention of letters — that all the world must con- 
spire in affixing the same signs to their sounds, — which af- 
fixing was at first as arbitrary as possible. 

But be the difficulty of the invention as it will, the use 
of it is manifest, particularly in the advantage it has above 
the other method of conveying our thoughts by words or 
sounds. 

We may have occasion to correspond with a friend at a 



Importance of Letters. 5 

distance ; or desire, upon a particular occasion, to take the 
opinion of an honest gentleman who has been dead this 
thousand years. 

Both which defects are supplied hj the noble invention 
of letters. By this means we materialize our ideas, and 
make them as lasting as the ink and paper. 

This making our thoughts visible to the eye, is next to 
the adding of a sixth sense, as it is a supply in case of the 
defect of hearing, by making the voice become visible. 

Have any painters gotten themselves an immortal name 
by drawing a face or painting a landscape ? What ap- 
plauses will he merit who first made his ideas sit to his 
pencil, and drew to his eye the picture of his mind ! 

By the invention of letters, the English trader may hold 
commerce with the inhabitants of the East or West Indies, 
without the trouble of a journey. 

Astronomers seated at the distance of the earth's diam- 
eter asunder, may confer ; what is spoken or thought at 
one pole may be heard and understood at the other. 

The phiK;sopher, who wished he had a window in his 
breast, to lay open his heart to all the world, might as easi- 
ly have revealed the secrets of it this way, and as easily 
have left them to the world as wished it. 

This silent art of speaking by letters, remedies the in- 
convenience arising from the distance of time as well as 
place ; and is much beyond that of the Egyptians, who 
could preserve their mummies for ten centuries. 

This preserves the works of the immortal part of men, 
so as to make the dead useful to the living. — I shall con- 
clude this paper with an extract from a poem in praise of 
the invention of writing — " written by a lady." — Steele', 

Blest be the man ! his memory at least, 

W^ho found the art thus to unfold his breast ; 

And taught succeeding times an easy way 

Their secret thoughts by letters to convey ; 

To baffle absence and secure delight^ 

Which till that time was limited to sight. 

The parting farewell spoke the last adieu, 

The lessening distance past, then lost to view. 

The friend was gone which some kind moments gave. 



^ Importance of good Instruciers. 

And absence separated, like the grave. 

When for a wife the youthful patriarch sent. 

The camels, jewels, and the steward went. 

And wealthy equipage, though grave and slow ; 

But not a line, that might the lover show. 

Tl>e rings and bracelets woo'dher hands and arms— 

But had she known of melting words and charms, 

That under secret seals in ambush lie 

To catch the soul, when drawn into the eye ; 

The fair Assyrian had not took his guide. 

Nor her soft heart in chains of pearl been tied* 



JV(9 4. Importance of good Instructers. 

Of the many useful occupations among men, there is 
perhaps no one more important than that of teaching chil- 
dren ; and this work ought to be regarded not only as im- 
portant, but truly honorable. 

When Instructers are well qualified for their employ- 
ment, and are faithful in the discharge of their duty, it may 
be reasonably expected that they will be instruments of 
promoting the welfare of their pupils, both for this world 
and the world to come. 

Not only the welfare of their immediate pupils, but that 
of society, and of future generations of men, are connected 
with this important business ; and so connected that the 
consequences of one Instructer^s conduct may affect mil- 
lions of the human family, and be as durable as eternit}^ 

It is therefore desirable that Instructers should not only 
be capable of teaching children to read, to write, to cypher, 
and to understand grammar and geography, but that they 
should be qualified to exert a moral influence, adapted to 
guide their pupils in the paths of virtue and benevolence* 

Children are objects of too much value to be exposed to 
the contaminating influence of an immoral Instructer, 
whatever share of learning he may possess. A man of pro- 
fane lips, a contentious spirit, or dissipated habits, should 
never be permitted to teach a school, until he shall have 
first reformed himself. 



Importance of good Instructers^, 7 

Self government is among the first requisites for a teach- 
er. He who has not acquired the art of governing himself, 
is unworthy to be intrusted with the government of others. 

A school should be governed by the laws of kindness and 
reason, and not by the laws of cruelty and despotism* 
When reproof or correction is necessary, it should be ad- 
ministered in such a manner, and with such a spirit, as to 
evince a sincere regard to the best interests of the child, 

" In barbarous ages," says Dr. Rush, *' every thing partook 
of the complexion of the times. Civil, ecclesiastical, mil- 
itary, and domestic punishments, were all of a cruel nature. 
With the progress of reason and Christianity, punishments 
of all kinds have become less severe. 

" Discipline, consisting in the vigilance of officers, has 
lessened the s^ipposed necessity of military executions ; and 
husbands, fathers, and masters, now blush at the history 
of the times, when wives, children, and servants were gov- 
erned only by force. 

" The world was created in love. It is sustained by 
love. Nations and families that are happy, are made so 
only by love. Let us extend this divine principle to those 
little communities called schools. Children are capable 
of loving in a high degree. They may therefore be govern- 
ed by love. 

" The occupation of a schoolmaster is truly dignified. 
He is, next to mothers, the most important member of so- 
ciety. Why then is there so little rank connected with 
that occupation? 

" Mothers and schoolmasters plant the seeds of nearly 
all the good and evil which exist in our world. Its reform- 
ation must therefore be begun in nurseries and schools."* 

One of the first objects of a schoolmaster should be to 
gain the love and confidence of his pupils, by convincing 
them that he is indeed their friend, and not their enemy ; 
and that he has a sincere desire to render them respect- 
able, useful and happy. 

The more evidence he gives that such is his real dis- 
position, the less occasion he will find for severity in gov- 
erning his school ; and the more useful and happy he will 
be in his occupation. 

* Essays, literary and moral. 



Dialogue. 

'tis a lovelj thing to see 

A man of prudent heart ! 

Whose thoughts and lips and life agree 

To SLct a useful part. 

Such was the Saviour of mankind. 
Such pleasures he pursued ; 
His manners gentle and refined, 
His soul divinely good. 

Belknap^ s Coll. 



JVo. 5. Dialogue between two Scholars — 
Daniel and John. 

Daniel. We are likely to enjoy the privilege of attend- 
ing school together another season ; and as we are among 
the elder scholars, would it not be well for us to converse 
a little on the subject, and to form some good resolutions? 

John. I think it may be useful to us, and perhaps to 
others. It is indeed a great privilege which we enjoy, 
and it should be our aim to make the best use of it. 

B. It seems to be a general opinion of those who have 
had experience in teaching, that much is depending on the 
conduct of the elder scholars, as to the happiness of the 
Instructer, and the good order of the school. 

J. This is doubtless a correct opinion. When elder 
scholars are idle, refractory, or vicious, they occasion much 
trouble and mischief; and their example has a pernicious 
iniluence on the younger children. 

2>. Not only the happiness of the master and the wel- 
fari, oi tiie school, but our own improvement, welfare and 
happiness, depend much on our being submissive to good 
regulations, and attentive to our duty. 

J. Nor is this all. The character of our parents, which 
should be ever dear to us, is much concerned in the part 
which we may act. 

1). That is a very just thought, and one which should 
have weight on our mind ; ; for instructers are in the habit 
of forming an opinion of the character and the govern- 



^Dialogue, d 

merit of parents, from the conduct of their children at 
school. 

J. Yes ; I believe it is a common opinion of instructers, 
that it is easy to govern those children at school, vfho are 
well governed at home. And that children, who are vexa- 
tious at school, have generall}^ vicious or negligent parents. 

D. As a general rule this is probably just, though there 
may be exceptions. At any rate it is easy to see that the 
character of our parents will be rendered suspicious, if our 
conduct should be incorrect. 

J. Their happiness too would be affected. It is ever 
painful to parents to hear complaints against their children, 
and gratifying to hear that they behave well at school, 
and make a good use of their time. 

D. There are other considerations which should not be 
overlooked. If we make a good use of our advantages and 
form correct habits, in a future day, we may be employed 
in teaching others ; and we should now be careful to treat 
our instructer as we should reasonably wish to be treated, 
if in his situation. 

J, In a large school an instructer usually has much to 
try his patience, and it behooves the elder scholars so to 
conduct, as to render his task as pleasant as possible. 

D. True ; and not only by peaceable and exemplary 
conduct in school, but also out of school ; and by kind ad- 
vice to younger scholars, to induce them to diligence, 
fidelity, aud amiable deportment. 

J. It is a beautiful sight to behold a well regulated 
school, where mutual love and sincere esteem exist be- 
tween the teacher and his pupils, and among the scholars 
one towards another. 

jD. It is so indeed ; and we should be disposed to ex- 
ert all our influence that it may be so in the school which 
we attend. 

J. The thought that God is a witness of our behaviour 
should never be forgotten. To him we are indebted for 
life, health, and all our privileges, and to him we must 
render an account for our use of them. 

B. Yes ; and a grateful sense of his kindness should 
induce us to be kind, and to do all we can to please him^ 
tnd to render those happy with whom we are connected. 



10 Improvements in the means of knowledge. 

J. The more we reflect and examine, the more reasons 
we shall discover to induce us to a circumspect and amia- 
ble course, and to employ all our influence for the good of 
the younger scholars. 

D. \ think we are agreed as to the course which it be- 
comes us to pursue. Let it then be our united and fixed res- 
olution, to do all we can to render our Parents, our In- 
structer, and our School-mates happy. 

J". I agree, with all my heart. 

Blest are the sons of peace. 
Whose hearts and hopes are one, 
Whose kind designs to serve and please, 



Through ail their actions run. 



Watts* 



JV*o. 6. Iinprovenients in the means of 
Knowled«:e. 



.j^. 



The art of communicating thoughts by alphabetical 
characters was indeed a wonderful discovery ; and one 
which contributed much to the progress and diffusion of 
knowledge. 

Mr. Steele had no good reason to hesitate, in attributing 
this " invention to the assistance of a Power more than 
human." For " every good gift" as well as every perfect 
gift cometh dov/n from the Father of lights. 

Men are indebted to God for all their faculties— for all 
their powers of invention -for all their success in pursuit 
of useful discoveries and improvements. Not unto us, O 
Lord, but unto thee be the glory, should be the language of 
their hearts. ^ 

vSince the invention of alphabetical writing, the art of 
printing has been granted to men by the Divine Benefactor. 
This also is a discovery of inestimable importance. 

Prior to the art of printing, books were scarce and in but 
few hands. Every copy of any work was written out with 
a pea, or some instrument which answered the same pur- 
pose. 



Improvements in the means of knowledge, ll 

To copy with the pen the whole Bible, or any book of 
equal size, was a long and laborious task ; the copies must 
have been few, and their price great. The rich only could 
pay for them. 

By the help of the printing apparatus, thousands of 
copies of the Bible are now furnished with perhaps less la- 
bor, than was formerly requisite to furnish a single copy. 

Since the art of printing was invented, knowledge has 
increased with great rapidity ; and its blessings have been 
extended to millions of poor people, who would otherwise 
have lived and died in savage ignorance. 

The means of acquiring useful knowledge have been con- 
tinually improving. The advances which have been made 
in our country, within sixty years, afford matter for won- 
der, and for praise. 

!n New England, children in general of the present 
time have probably four fold greater advantages for ac- 
quiring knowledge, than were possessed by their grand- 
parents sixty years ago. 

Books adapted to the use of schools and to the capaci- 
ties of the young, have been multiplied and improved ; great 
advances have been made in the methods of teaching; 
schools are in general kept a greater portion of the year; 
and the instructers are much better qualified than in form- 
er times. 

But for all these advantages a strict account must be 
given to God. Children should remember, that where 
much is given, much will be required ; and that no advan- 
tages will be to them of ultimate benefit, unless they are 
faithfully improved. 

Those who are now children in our schools, will soon 
supply the places of their fathers and mothers in society. 
From among them the offices in church and state must be fil- 
led ; and they will be the instructers of another generation. 

Of what inestimable worth then are th children who 
now compose our schools ! How important that their 
minds should be stored with useful knowledge, and 4heir 
hearts imbued with sentiments of piety and benevolence. 



To mark the human from the brutal kind, 
God breath'd in man his noblest gift — a mind 



12 Divine Instructions hy Jesus Christ, 

But gave that blessing like the fruitful land. 

To yield its harvest to the tiller's hand : 

Left to itself the wildest weeds shall grow. 

And poisons flourish where the fruits should blGw; 

This law is nature's, of Almighty plan. 

And God's command — that man enlighten man. 

say, ye candid, liberal and wise. 

In which of these a nation's safety lies — 

In youth impressed with what fair lessons yield. 

Or left more rude than cattle of the field? 

O bless'd Instruction ! now thy temples rise. 
Virtue shall spring like incense to the skiesi 
Thy searching powers the mental mines explore. 
And gems of genius shall be lost no more. 

Brandon, 



JV*o. 7. Divine Instructions by Jesus 
Christ. 

Happy the poor who repine not ; for the kingdom of 
heaven is theirs ! Happy they who mourn ; for they shall 
receive consolation ! Happy the meek ; for they shall in- 
herit the land ! Happy they who hunger and thirst for 
righteousness ; for they shall be satisfied ! Happy the 
merciful ; for they shall obtain mercy ! 

Happy the peacemakers ; for they shall be called 
sons of God ! Happy they who suffer persecution on ac- 
count of righteousness ; for the kingdom of heaven is theirs ! 
Happy shall ye be when men shall revile and persecute 
you, and, on my account, accuse you falsely of every evil 
thing! Rejoice and exult; for great is your reward in 
heaven ; for thus the prophets were persecuted who were 
before you. 

Ye have heard that it was said, Eye for eye and tooth 

for tooth. But 1 say unto you. Resist not the injurious 

Ye have heard that it was said. Thou shalt l6ve ithy neigh- 
boj^r, and hate thine enemy. But I say unto you, Love 



Divine Instructions by Jesus Christ, 13 

your enemies ; bless them who curse you ; do good to them 
who hate you, and pray for them who arraign and perse- 
cute you, that ye may be children of your Father in hea- 
ven, who mak«th his sun arise on bad and good, and 
sendeth rain on just and unjust. 

For if ye love them only who love you, what reward can 
ye expect ? Do not even the publicans so ? And if ye 
shov/ courtesy to your friends only, wherein do ye excel ? 
Do not even the pagans as much ? Be ye therefore perfect, 
as your Father who is in heaven is perfect. 

And in prayer, talk not at random, as the pagans, who 
think that using many words will procure them acceptance. 
Imitate them not, for your Father knoweth what things ye 
want before ye ask him. Thus, therefore, pray ye : — 

Our Father who art in heaven, thy name be hallowed ; 
thy reign come ; thy will be done upon the earth as it is 
in heaven ; give us to day our daily bread ; forgive us our 
debts, as we forgive our debtors ; and abandon us not to 
temptation, but preserve us from evil. For thine is the 
kingdom, and the power, and the glory for ever. Amen. 

For if ye forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly 
Father will also forgive you ; but if ye forgive not others 
their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your tres- 
passes. 

Ask, and ye shall obtain ; seek, and ye shall find ; 
knock, and the door shall be opened to you ; for whosoever 
asketh, obtaineth ; whosoever seeketh, findeth ; and to 
every one that knocketh, the door is opened. 

Who amongst you men would give his son a stone, when 
he asketh bread r Or a serpent, when he asketh a fish ? 
If ye then, though evil, can give good things to your chil- 
dren, how much more will your Father who is in heaven 
give good things to them that ask him. 

Whatsoever ye would that others do to you, do ye also 
to them : for this is the law and the prophets. Enter 
through the strait gate ; for wide is the gate of perdition, 
broad is the way leading thither ; and many are they who 
enter by it. But how slrait is the gate of life ; how narrow 
the way leading thither ; and how few are they who 
find it ! 

2 



X4 A Paraphrase, 

Not every one that saith, Master, Master, shall enter 
the kingdom of heaven ; but he that doth the will of my 
Father who is in heaven. Many will say unto me on that 
day. Master, Master, have we not taught in thy name, and 
in thv name expelled demons, and in thy name performed 
many miracles ? To whom I will declare, I never knew 
you. Depart from me, ye who practise iniquity. 
" Therefore, whosoever heareth these my precepts and 
doth them, I will compare to a prudent man, who built his 
house upon the rock. For although the rain descended, 
and the rivers overflowed, and the winds blew and beat 
upon that house, it fell not, because it was founded upon 

the rock ^ > j iu 

But whosoever heareth these my precepts, and doth 
them not, shall be compared to a fooL, who built his house 
upon the sand. For when the rain descended, and the 
rivers overflowed, and the winds blew, and dashed against 
that house, it fell, and great was its ruin. 

CampbelVs translation. 



A Paraphrase on Matthew vii. IS. 

« Whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, do ye 
even so to them,^^ 

Precept divine ! to earth in mercy given ; 

O sacred rule of action, worthy heaven ! 

Whose pitying love ordained the blest command 

To bind our nature in a firmer band ; 

Enforce each human suff'rer's strong appeal. 

And teach the selfish breast what others feel ; 

Wert thou the guide of life, mankind might know 

A soft exemption from the worst of woe ; 

No more the powerful would the weak oppress, 

But tyrants learn the luxury to bless ; 

No more would slavery bind a hopeless train 

Of human victims in her galling chain ; 

Mercy the hard, the cruel heart would move 

To soften misery by the deeds of love ; 



All Animals the work and care of God. 15 

And av'rice from his hoarded treasures give, 
Unask'd, the liberal boon, that want might live ; 
The impious tongue of falsehood then would cease 
To blast, with dark suggestions, virtue's peace. 

Miss Williams. 



JV 0. 8. All Animals the work and care 
of God. 

It is of great importance that children should regard all 
animals as God's creatures, and as the objects of his tender 
care. The following passages of scripture may be of use 
to impress these ideas on their minds. 

"And God created great whales and every living creature 
that moveth, which the waters brought forth abundantly 
after their kind, and every winged fowl after his kind : 
and God saw that it was good. '^ 

" And God blessed them, saying. Be fruitful and multi- 
ply, and fill the waters in the seas, and let fowl multiply 
in the earth." 

" And God made the beast of the earth after his kin J, 
and cattle after their kind, and every thing that creepeth 
after his kind : and God saw that it was good." 

" And to every beast of the earth, and to every fowl of 
tlie air, and to every thing that creepeth on the earth 
wherein there is life, I have given, saith God, every green 
herb for meat : and it was so." 

When God was about to destroy the world by a flood, 
he took care to preserve some of the various tribes of 
beasts and fowls as well as the family of Noah. The fol- 
lowing were his directions to the man who built the ark. 

" Of every clean beast thou shalt take to thee by sevens, 
the male and his female ; and of beasts that are not clean 
by two, his male and his female. Of fowls also of the air 
by sevens, the male and the female, to keep seed alive upon 
the face of all the earth." 

According to divine directions Noah completed an ark 
for the preservation of himself, his family, and as man^ 
beasts and birds as God had appointed. 



16 All Animals the work and care of God. 

"In the self same day entered Noah, and Shem, and 
Ham, and Japheth, the sons of Noah, and Noah's wife and 
the three wives of his sons with them, into the ark." 

" They, and every beast after his kind, and all the cat- 
tle after their kind, and every creeping thing that cree{)eth- 
upon the earth after his kind, and every fowl after his kind, 
every bird of every sort." 

" And they went in unto Noah into the ark, two and 
two of -all flesh, wherein is the breath of life." 

" And they that went in, went in male and female of all 
flesh, as God had commanded him ; and the Lord shut 
him in." 

After the waters of the flood had subsided, God said un- 
to Noah and his sons—" And I, behold I establish mj 
covenant with you, and with your seed after you ; — 

" And with every living creature that is with you, of the 
fowl, of the cattle, and of every beast of the earth with 
you ; from all that go out of the ark, to every beast of 
the earth." 

There are other passages of scripture which express 
God's tender care towards the creatures which his hand 
has formed ; and by which he intimates the tenderness 
which men should exercise towards the animals which he 
has subjected to our use. 

" Thou shalt not muzzle the ox when he treadeth out 
the corn." 

" Every beast of the forest is mine, and the cattle upon 
a thousand hills." 

" I know all the fowls of the mountain ; and the wild 
beasts of the field are mine.*' 

" He giveth to the beast his food, and the young ravens 
when they cry." 

A merciful disposition pertains to the character which 
God approves : — " The righteous man is merciful to his 
beast." 

God's regard for cattle was expressed in the reasons he 
gave to Jonah for not destroying Nineveh, according to the 
wishes of the peevish prophet : — 

" Then said the Lord, thou hast had pity on the gourd, 
for the which thou hast not labored, neither madest it to 
grow, which came up in a night and perished in a night 5 



All Animals the work and care of God, 17 

" And should not I spare Nineveh, that great city, 
wherein are more than six score thousand persons, who 
cannot discern between the right hand and the left, and 
also much cattle V 

Our compassionate Savior, to encourage in his disciples 
a becoming hope in God, and to dissuade them from 
anxious concern about their subsistence, brought to view 
God's care even for the sparrows : — 

" Behold the fowls of the air : for they sow not, neither 

do they reap nor gather into barns ; yet your heavenly 

- Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they ?" 

** Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings ? And 
not one of them is forgotten before God." 

" And one of them shall not fall on the ground without 
your Father." 

" Fear ye not, therefore, ye are of more value than many 
sparrows " 

As men are of a rank superior to the other tribes of 
animated beings, when God had created our first parents, 
male and female, he made them lords of this lower 
creation. 

" And God blessed them ; and God said unto them, be 
fruitful and multiply and replenish the earth and subdue 
it ; and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over 
the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that mov- 
eth upon the earth." 

After the flood, the dominion of man over the animal 
tribes was again announced by God to Noah and his sons ; 
and a grant to use them for food was expressed. 

" Every moving thing that liveth shall be meat for you ; 
even as the green herb have I given you all things." 

To the benevolent mind, the kindness of God to all his 
creatures must be a subject of pleasing reflection ; and it 
should teach men to imitate this kindness. The dominion 
which he has given to our race over other animals, is a 
fruit of his benignity to us, which should never be abused. 

How depraved then are those of mankind who find 
pleasure and amusement in torturing, or in causing to be 
tortured, the animals which are kindly fed bj their Maker, 
the benevolent Father of creation ! 

2* 



18 Cruelty to Animals. 

" Lothe young ravens, from their nest exil'd^ 

On hunger's wing attempt the aerial wild ! 

Who leads their wanderings, and their feast supplies- ^ 

To God ascend their importuning cries." 

, ^ SmtU 

Nor to the human race alone 

Is thy paternal goodness shown ; 

The tribes of earth, of sea, and air. 

Enjoy thy universal care. 

Not e'eu the sparrow yields its brea 

Till God permits the stroke of death ; 

He hears the ravens when they call, 

The Father and the friend of all. 

To thee, in ceaseless strains, my tongue 

Shall raise the morn and evening song ; 

And long as breath inspires my frame, 

The wonders of thy love proclaim 

Liverpool Collection* 

A man of kindness, to his beast is kind. 
But brutal actions show a brutal mind ; 
Remember he who made thee, made the brute ; 
Who gave thee speech and reason, forni'd him mute. 
He can't complain — but God's all seeing eye 
' Beholds thy cruelty, ai!d hears his cry ; 
He was design'd thy servant and thy drudge ; 
But know that his Creator is thy Judge. 

Jimerican Magazine^ 



JV\?» 9. Cruelty to Animals, 

I cannot think it extravagant to imagine that mankind 
are no less in proportion accountable for the ill use of their 
dominion over creatures of the lower rank of beings, than 
for the exercise of tyranny over their own species. 

It is observable of those noxious animals which have 
qualities most powerful to injure us, that they naturally 
avoid mankind and and seldom hurt us, unless provoked 



Cruelty to Animals, 19^ 

or necessitated bj hunger. Man, on the other hand, seeks 
out and pursues even the most inoffensive animals, on pur- 
pose to persecute and destroy them. 

Montaigne thinks it some reflection upon hurap;n nature 
itself, that so few people take delight in seeing beasts ca- 
ress or play together, but almost every one is pleased to see 
them lacerate and worry one another. 

I am sorry this temper is become almost a distinguishing 
characteristic, of our own nation,* from the observation 
which is made by foreigners of our beloved pastimes — bear- 
baiting, cock-fighting and the like. 

We should find it hard to vindicate the destroying of 
any thing that has life, merely out of wantonness ; j^t in 
this principle our children are bred up, and one of the first 
pleasures we allow them, is the license of inflicting pain 
upon poor animals. Almost as soon as we are sensible 
what life is ourselves, we make it our sport to take it from 
other creatures. 

I cannot but believe a very good use might be made of 
the fancy which children have for biids and insects. Mr, 
Locke takes notice of a mother^ v/ho permitted them to her 
children, but rewarded or punished them as they treated 
them well or ill. This was no other than enterino- them 
betimes into a daily exercise of humanity, and improving 
their very diversions to a virtue. 

When we grow up to men, we have another succession 
of sanguinary sports, in particular that oi hunting. — But if 
our sports are destructive, our gluttony is more so, and in 
a more inhuman manner. Lobsters roasted a live, pio-g 
whipt to death, fowls sewed up, are testimonies of our out- 
rageous luxury. 

The excellent Plutarch cites a passage of Cato to this 
effect, "That it is no easy task to preach to the stomach, 
which has no ears." 

* Yet if,' says Plutarch, ' we are ashamed to be so out of 
fashion as not to offend, let us at least offend with some 
discretion and measure. 

* If we kill an animal for our provision, let us do it with 
meltings of compassion, without tormenting it. Let us con- 
sider that it is in its own nature cruelty to put a living 
creature to death.' 

* Britain.. 



20 Cruelty to Animals. 

* It ought to be esteemed a happiness to mankind that our 
humanity has a wider sphere to exert itself in than bare 
justice. It is no more than the obligation of our very birth 
to practise equity to our kind, but humanity may be extend- 
ed through the whole order of creatures, even to the' 
meanest.' 

History tells us of a wise and polite nation that rejected 
a person of the first quality, who stood for a judiciary office, 
only because he had been observed in his youth to take 
pleasure in tearing and murdering birds. 

And of another that expelled a man out of the senate, 
for dashing a bird against the ground which had taken shel- 
ter in his bosom. Every one knows how remarkable the 
Turks are for their humanity in this kind. 

Tope. 

To this Mr. Pope annexed the following sentiments of 
Ovid. 

* The sheep was sacrific'd on no pretence. 

But meek and unresisting innocence. 

A patient, useful creature, born to bear 

The warm and woolly fleece that cloth'd her murderer ; 

And daily to give down the milk she bred, 

A tribute for the grass, on which she fed. 

Living, both food and raiment she supplies, 

And is of least advantage, when she dies. 

How did the toiling ox his death deserve ; 

A downright simple drudge, and born to serve ? 

O tyrant! with what justice canst thou hope 

The promise of the year, a plenteous crop ; 

When thoii destroy'st thy laboring steer, who till'd 

And ploughed with pains thy else ungrateful field ! 

From his yet reeking neck to draw the yoke, 

That neck, with which the surly clods he broke : 

And to the hatchet yield thy husbandman, 

Who finished autumn and the spring began ? 

What more advance can mortals make in sin 

So near perfection, who with blood begin ? 

Deaf to the calf that lies beneath the knife. 

Looks up, and from her butcher begs her life. 



Eulogium on Christ and the Gospel. 21 

Deaf to the harmless kid, that ere he dies. 
All methods to secure thy mercy tries. 
And imitates in vain the children's cries ! 

OvjD — translated by Dryden. 



•Yo. 10, Eulogium on Christ and the 
Gospel. 

In Christ we have an example of a quiet and peaceable 
spirit, of a becoming modesty and sobriety ; just and honest, 
upright and sincere^ and above all, of a most gracious and 
benevolent temper and behavior. 

One who did no wrong, no injury to any man ; in whose 
mouth was no guile, who went about doing good, not only 
by his preaching and ministry, but also curing all manner 
01 diseases among the people. 

His life was a beautiful picture of human nature, when 
in its native purity and simplicity ; and showed at once 
what excellent creatures men would be, when under the 
influence and power of that gospel he preached unto them. 

I confess that the majesty of the scriptures astonishes 
me, that the sanctity of the gospel speaks to my heart. 
View the books of the philosophers with all their pomp : 
what a littleness have they compared with this ! 

Is it possible that a book, at once so sublime and simple, 
should be the work of men ? Is it possible that he whose 
history it records should be himself a mere man ? Is this 
the style of an enthusiast, or of an ambitious sectary ? 

What sweetness, what purity in his manners ! What af- 
fecting grace in his instructions ! What elevation in his 
maxims ! What profound wisdom in his discourses ! What 
presence of mind ! What delicacy, what justness in his re- 
plies ! What empire over his passions ! 

Where is the man, where is the philosopher, who knows 
how to act, to suffer, and die without weakness and with' 
out ostentation ? 



22 Eulogium on Christ and the Gospel. 

When Plato paints his imaginary just man, covered with 
all the ignominy of guilt, and deserving all the honours of 
virtue, he paints Jesus Christ in every stroke of his pencil : 
the resemblance is so strong that all the fathers have per- 
ceived it, and that it is not possible to mistake it. 
"~ What prejudices, what blindness must they have, who 
dare to draw a comparison between Socrates, the son of 
Sophroniscus, and Jesus, the son of Mary ? What distance 
~ is ther^ between the one and the other ! 

As Socrates died without pain and without disgrace, he 
founf( no difficulty in supporting his character to the end ; 
and if this easy death had not shed a lustre on his life, we 
might have doubted whether Socrates, with all his genius, 
was any thing but a sophist. 

They say he invented morality. Others before him had 
practised it. He only said what they had done ; he only 
read lessons on their examples. 

Aristides had been just,'before Socrates explained the 
nature of justice ; Leonidas had died for his country, be- 
fore Socrates made it the duty of men to love their coun- 
try ; Sparta had been temperate, before Socrates praised 
temperance ; Greece had abounded in virtuous men, before 
he defined virtue. 

But where could Jesus have taken among his countrymen 
that pure and elevated morality, of which he alone furnish- 
ed the precepts and the example. The most lofty wisdom 
was heard from the bosom of the most furious fanaticism ; 
and the simplicity of the most heroic virtues honoured the 
vilest of all people. 
^. The death of Socrates, serenely philosophizing with his 
friends, was the most gentle that one can desire ; that of 
Jesus expiring in torments, injured, derided, reviled by a 
whole people, is the most horrible that one can fear. 

When Socrates takes the poisoned cup ; he blesses him 
that presents it, and who also weeps ; Jesus in the midst 
of a horrid ptinishment prays for his enraged executioners. 
Yes, if the life and death of Socrates are those of a philoso- 
pher, the life and death of Jesus Christ are those of a God. 

Shall we say that the history of the gospel is invented at 
pleasure ? My friend, it is not thus that men invent; and 
the actions of Socrates, concerning which no one doubts^^ 
are less attested than those of Jesus Christ. 



Opposition between War and the Gospel, 23 

After all, this is but shifting the difliculty, instead of solv- 
ing it; for it would be more inconceivable that a number 
of men should forge this book in concert, than that one 
should be the subject of it. 

Jewish authors would never have devised such a man- 
ner, and such morality ; and the gospel has characters of 
truth so great, so striking, so perfectly inimitable, that its 
inventer would be still more astonishing than its hero. 

Mousseau, 



tJV'o. 11. Opposition between War and 
the Gospel. 

The gospel is a system of morals and religion, designed 
to render men moral and religious. But war annuls the 
precepts of religion, repeals the statutes of morality, con- 
founds right and wrong. While war[prevails, the gospel 
cannot have its full effect. 

The gospel requires men to do good. The very busi- 
ness of war is mischief and damage. The gospel requires 
men to forgive their enemies. Revenge is often the chief 
design of war. The gospel commands men to feed the 
poor and comfort the afflicted. 

The sword drinks the blood of the afflicted, robs and 
plunders the poor, covers him with wounds, and leaves 
him half dead. Truth and sincerity are precepts of the 
gospel ; and are reputable in the dwellings of peace ; but 
the v/arrior glories in executing the work of destruction by- 
artifice, by delusion and stratagem. 

While the devout Christian sits pondering how he may 
comfort the sorrowful, enlighten the ignorant, and reform 
the wicked, the man of blood is contriving and plotting, to 
vanquish yonder army, to ravage the country, covering the 
fields with the wounded and the dead. 

The gos-^oel forbids murder. Yes, it does. But is not 
this the grand purpose of war ? W* hy else all the swords, 
and balls, and engines of death ? The combination of ten 



24 Prospects of Universal Peace. 

thousand men, to slay ten thousand, is not less murdevms, 
than the resolution of one man to slay one man. Had Cam 
been a king, and marched an army to destroy his brother, 
would this have lessened his guilt? 

Did God not include kings, when he said, "Thou shalt 
not kill ?" Did he not include their victorious legions I 
If one man may not commit murder, how many must unite 
to make it innocent and glorious ? May two,— two hundred, 
—two million ? Two million have no more right to mur- 
der and destroy, than two individuals. 

When pure 'Christianity shall cover the earth, avarice 
and revenge will be extinguished; ambition will be de- 
throned, and war expire. The acknowledged design ot the 
christian religion is to induce men to love their enemies, 
to be like Jesus Christ, who resisted not evil. Is it possible 
for such a man, to seize his sword, and rush to the hill ot 
battle? Can he bid the artillery blaze ? 

Can he become the angel of death, and scatter plague 
and pestilence round the globe ? When rulers a 1 possess 
this benevolence, who wdl proclaim the war? When 
commanders have this spirit, who will order the battle r 
When the mass of mankind have the spirit of Christ, 
where will soldiers be found? Where will you find a 
man to slay his neighbour ? ^, , .„ • • u^o^co 

The rendezvous is forsaken. The shrill piercing, hoarse 
rattling instruments; the harsh clattering sounds of mar- 
tial bands, are silent, as the deserted field of batt e, where 
death riots in dismal solitude. All are gone to the house 
of worship, to celebrate the jubdee of peace, ^ojo^y" -jl 
song of angels. ^^* "** * 



Prospects of Universal Peace. 

" My peace t leave with you." Jesus. 

A^ day— no distant day shall dawn. 
To chase the clouds that now oppress us. 
When Peace shall call the world its own, 
And heaven's celestial light shall bless us, 



Pleasures of Spring. 25 

Day of God's promise ! thee I sing, 

Thee, every hurrying hour draws nearer — 

When laurels, drencli'd in blood, shall bring 

Nor fame, nor glory to the wearer. 

And shall that gloomy mist disperse ; 

Which now religion's radiance smothers ; — 

And man embrace the universe. 

As fellow-pilgrims, friends, and brothers ? 

Ml from a common origin — 

Ml to a common country tending — 

Ml born to sorrow — ^prone to sin— 

And all — with hopes to heaven ascend ino-. 

Come, blessed day ! foretold by thee, ° 

By thee, our Lord, in promise given ; 

Who left " thy peace^^ — a legacy 

To help us on our way to heaven. 

O when that Peace shall find a home 

On earth, out-tired with War and Madness • 

Thy kingdom will indeed be come ' 

In all its glory — all its gladness ! j. g, 

Iferald of Peace, JYo', 1 1 . 



JV*(9. 13. Pleasures of Spring. 

Men of my age receive a greater pleasure from fine 
weather than from any other sensual enjoyment. If the 
art of flying were brought to perfection, the use that 1 
should make of it would be to attend the sun round the 
world, and pursue the Spring through every sign of the 



This love of warmth makes my heart glad at the return 
of Spring. How amazing is the chan|e in the face of 
nature, when the earth from being bound wih frost or 
covered with snow begins to put forth her plants and 
flowers to be clothed with green, diversified with ten 
thousand various dyes, and to exhale such fi.sh and 
charming odours, as fill every living creature with\lelight 



26 Pleasures of Spring. 

Full of thoughts like these, I make it a rule to lose as 
little as I can of that blessed season ; and, accordingly, 
rise with the sun, and wander through the fields, or lose 
myself in the woods. I spent a day or two this Spring at 
a country gentleman's seat, when I feasted my imagina- 
tion every morning with the most luxurious prospect I 
ever saw. 

But if the eye is delighted, the ear hath likewise its 
proper entertainment. The, music of the birds at this time 
of the year hath something in it so wildly sweet, as makes 
me less relish the most elaborate compositions of Italy. 

The sight which gave me the most satisfaction was a 
flight of young birds, under the conduct of the father, and 
indulgent directions and assistance of the dam. I took 
particular notice of a beau goldfinch, who was picking his 
plumes, and pruning hig wings, and with great diligence 
adjusting all his gaudy garniture. 

When he had equipped himself with great trimness and 
nicety, he stretched his painted neck, which seemed to 
brighten with new giowings, and strained his throat into 
'many wild notes and natural melody. He then flew about 
the nest in several circles and windings, and invited his 
wife and children into open air. 

It was very entertaining to see the trembling and the 
fluttering little strangers at their first appearance in the 
world, and the different care of the male and female 
parent, so suitable to their different sexes. 

I could not take my eye quickly from so entertaining 
an object ; nor could I help wishing, that creatures of a 
superior rank would so manifest their mutual affection, 
and so cheerfully concur in providing for their offspring. 

TickelL 

Nor only through the lenient air, this change 
Delicious breathes ; the penetrative sun, 
His force deep-darting to the dark retreat 
Of vegetation, sets the steaming Power 
At large, to wander o'er the vernant earth. 
In various hues ; but chiefly thee, gay Green 
Thou smiling Nature's universal robe ! 



Proper Sense of Honour, '27 j 

Behold von breathing prospect bids the Muse ^ 

Throw all her beaiitj forth. But who can paint \ 

Like Nature ? Can imagination boast, | 

Amid its gaj creation, hues like hers ? i 

Or can it mix them with that matchless skill, ' 
And lose them in each other, as appears 

In every bud that blows ? If/ancy then \ 

Unequal fails beneath the pleasing task ; ^ 

Ah what shall language do ? j 

Hail, Source of Being ! Universal Soul ! 1 

Of heaven and earth ! Essential Presence, hail ! ' * 

To Thee 1 bend the knee ; to Thee my thoughts ; 

Continual climb ; who with a master-hand j 

Hast the great whole into perfection touch'd. ] 

As rising from the vegetable world ' 

My theme ascends ; with equal wing ascend, ; 

My panting Muse ; and hark, how loud the; woods > 

Invite you forth in all your gayest trim. j 

Lend me your song, ye nightingales ! oh pour ^ 
The mazy-running soul of melody 

Into my varied verse ! — , 

Rfill let my song a nobler note assume, 1 

And sing th* infusive force of Spring on man ; ' 

When heaven and earth, as if contending, vie 

To raise his being, and serene his soul. ^ 

Can he forbear to join the general smile i 

Of Nature ? Can fiei-ce passions vex his breast, j 

While every gale is peace, and every grove 

Is melody ? Thompson, 



JVo. 13. Proper Sense of Honour. 

Every principle that is a motive to good actions ought 
to be encouraged, since men are of so different a make, 
that the same principle does not work equally upon all 
minds. What some men are prompted to by conscience, 
duty or religion, others are prompted to by honour. 



28 Prosper Sense of Honour, 

But as nothing is more pernicious than a principle of 
action when it is misunderstood, I shall consider honour 
with respect to three sorts of men. First, those who have 
a right notion of it. Secondly, those who have a mistaken 
notion of it. Thirdly, those who treat it as chimerical, 
and turn it into ridicule. 

In the first place, true honour, though it be a diiferent 
principle from religion, is that which produces the same 
effects. The lines of action, though drawn from different 
parts, terminate in the same point. Religion embraces 
virtue, as it is enjoined by the laws of God ; honour, as it 
is graceful to human nature. 

In the second place, we are to consider those who have 
mistaken notions of honour. These are such as establish 
any thing to themselves for a point of honour, which is con- 
trary either to the laws of God, or of their country ; who 
think it more honourable to revenge, than to forgive an in- 
jury ; who rnake no scruple of telling a lie, but would put 
any man to death that accuses them of it ; who are more 
careful to guard their reputation by their courage, than by 
their virtue. 

True fortitude is indeed so becoming in human nature, 
that he who wants it scarce deserves the name of a man ; 
but we find several who so much abuse this notion, that 
they place the whole idea of haiiOUr in a kind of brutal 
courage ; by which means we have had many among us 
"wlio have called themselves men of honour, that would 
have been a disgrace to a gibbet. 

Timogenes was a lively instance of one actuated by 
false honour. He would smile at a man's jest who ridi- 
culed his Maker, and at the same time run a man through 
the body that spoke ill- of his friend. He Mould have 
scorned to betray a secret, intrusted with him, though the 
fate of his country depended on the discovery of it. 

Timogenes took away the life of a young fellow in a 
duel, for having spoken ill of Belinda, a lady whom he 
, himself had seduced in her youth, and betrayed into want 
and ignominy. 

To close his character, Timogenes, after having ruined 
several poor tradesmen's families who had trusted him, 
sold his estate to satisfy his creditors ; but disposed of 



Proper Sense of Honour. 29 

all the money he could make of it in paving off his play 
debts, or, to speak in his own language, his debts of honour. 

In the third place, we are to consider those persons who 
treat this principle as chimerical These are generally 
persons who, in Shakspeare's phi-ase, "are worn and 
nackneyed in the ways of men" — whose imaginations are 
grown callous, and have lost all those delicate sentiments 
which are natural to minds that are innocent and unde- 
praved. 

Such old battered miscreants ridicule ever}^ thing as 
romantic which comes in competition with their present 
interest, and treat those persons as visionaries, who dare, 
stand up in a corrupt age for what has not its immediate 
reward joined to it. 

But whatever wealth and dignities they may arrive at, 
they ought to consider, that tivery one stands as a blot in 
the annals of his country, who arrives at the temple of 
honour by any other way than through that of virtue. 

Jiddison — Guardian.. 

The point of honour has been deemed of use. 
To teach good manners, and to curb abuse ; 
Admit it true, the consequence is clear. 
Our polish'd manners are a mask we wear. 
And, at the bottom, barbVous still and rude. 
We are restrained indeed, but not subdu'd ; 
The very remedy, however sure, 
Springs from the mischief it intends to cure, 
And savage in its principle appears. 
Tried, as it should be, by the fruit it bears. 
'Tis hard indeed if nothing will defend 
Mankind from quarrels, but their fatal end ; 
That now and then a hero must decease. 
That the surviving vrorld may live in peace. 

Cowyer* 
3* 



30 Divine compassion illustrated by Parahles. 

JSTo, 14. Divine compassion illustrated 
by Parables. 

Then Peter approaching, said to him, Master, if my 
brother repeatedly trespass against mej how often must I 
forgive him ? Must I seven times? Jesus answered, I 
say unt@ thee, not seven times, but seventy times seven 
timeSc 

In this the administration of heaven resembleth that of 
a kings who determined to settle accounts with his ser- 
vants. Having begun to reckon, one was brought who 
owed him ten thousand talents. But that servant not 
having wherewith to pay, his master, to obtain payment, 
commanded that he and his wife and children, and all that 
be had, should be sold. 

Then the servant, throwing himself prostrate before his 
master, cried. Have patience with me, my lord, and I will 
pay the whole. And his master had compassion on him, 
and dismissed him, remitting the debt. 

But this servant, as he went out, meeting one of his 
fellow servants, who owed him a hundred denarii, seized 
him by the throat, saying. Pay me what thou owest. His 
fellow^ servant threw himself at his feet and besought him, 
saying. Have patience with me, and [ will pay thee. And 
he would not, but instantly caused him to be imprisoned, 
until he should discharge the debt. 

His fellow servants seeing this, were deeply affected, 
and went and informed their master of all that had passed. 
Then his master, having given orders to call him, said to 
him. Thou wicked servant ; all that debt I forgave thee, 
because thou besoughtest me. Oughtest not thou to have 
shown such pity to thy fellow servant, as I showed to thee ? 

So his master, being provoked, delivered him to the 
jailers, to remain in their hands, until he should clear the 
debt — Thus will my celestial Father treat every one of 
you, who forgiveth not from his heart the faults of his 
brother. Matthew xviii. 21 — 35. 

He said also, A certain man had two sons, and the 
younger of them said to his father, Father, give me my 
portion of the estate. And he allotted to them their 



Divine compassion illustrated by Parables. 31 

shares. Soon after, the younger son gathered all together 
and travelled into a distant country, and there wasted his 
substance in riot. 

When all was spent, a great famine came upon that 
land, and he began to be in want. Then he applied to one 
of the inhabitants of that country, who sent him into his 
fields to keep swine. And he was fain to fill his belly 
with the husks on which the swine were feeding; for 
nobody gave him aught. 

At length, coming to himself, he said. How many 
hirelings hath my fatlier, who have all more bread than 
sufficeth them, while I perish with hunger ! I will arise 
and go to my father, and will say unto him, Father, I 
have sinned against heaven and thee, and am no longer 
wo I thy to be called thy son ; make me as one of thy 
hirelings. 

And he arose and went to his father. When he was 
yet afar off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and 
ran, and threw himself upon his neck, and kissed him. 
And the son said. Father, I have sinned against heaven 
and thee, and am no longer worthy to be called thy son. 

But the father said to his servants. Bring hither the 
principal robe and put it on him, and put a ring on his 
finger, and shoes on his feet ; bring also the fatted calf 
and kill it, and let us eat and be merry ; for this my son 
was dead, and is alive again ; he was lost, and is founda 
Luke XV, 1 1 — 24. CampheWs translation. 

Father, I see thy sun arise. 

To cheer thy friends and enemies ; 

And when from heaven the rain descends. 

Thy bounty both alike befriends. 

Enlarge my soul with love like thine. 
My mortal powers by grace refine ; 
So shall I feel another's wo, 
And freely feed a hungry foe. 

I hope for pardon through thy Son, 
For all the crimes which I have done ; 
Then may the grace that pardons me. 
Constrain me to forgive like thee. 

Rippon^s Collection, 



32 The Greenlander^s Proof of a God, 

JVo. 15. The Greenlander's Proof of 
a God. 

In conversation with a Danish Missionary, a Green- 
lander observed — " It is true we were ignorant heathens, 
and knew little of a God till you came ; but you must not 
imagine that no Greeniander thinks about these things. 

" A kajah" — a Greenland boat — " with all its tackle 
and implements, cannot exist but by the labor of man ; 
and one who does not understand it would spoil it. But 
the meanest bird requires more skill than a kajah ; no man 
can make a bird. 

" There is still more skill required to make a man ; by 
whom then was he ^ade f He proceeded from his 
parents, and they from their parents. But some must 
nave been the first parents; whence did they proceed? 

" Common report^ays, they grew out of the earth ; if 
so, why do not men still grow out of the earth ? And 
whence came the earth itself, the sun, the moon, the stars? 
Certainly there must be some Being who made all these 
things — a Being more wise than the wisest man." 

There is a God : Why else is man ? 
For he could not himself create ; 
Before he was, he could not plan, 
Nor was he form'd by senseless fate. 

The watch displays its maker's skill. 
Imports intelligence, design. 
In him who by an act of will 
Could thus its various parts combine. 

Does then the watch denote a mind 
In him who made it tell the hour ? 
Can he who knows this be so blind 
As not to see a higher Power ! 

If watches are not made by chance. 
But prove a preexisting plan ; 
"Who will the stupid thought advance 
That Mind was not the cause of man ? 



Loo Choo Islanders '^3 

Do human minds and human hands 
Require a less discerning cause, 
Than human works and human plans. 
Constructed bj mechanic laws ? 

Unhappy men ! who God deny. 
In heart, in thought, in word, or deed. 
While his all-bounteous hands supply. 
The daily bread on which they feed. 

dnon. 



JS*o, 16. Loo Choo Islanders. 

In the year 1816, Lord Amherst was sent as an Ambas- 
sador from Great Britain to China. While he remained at 
China, two armed vessels — the frigate Alcesta and the brig 
Ljra — which accompanied his Lordship, visited the island 
called Lewchew, or Loo Choo The Alcesta was com- 
manded by Capt. Maxwell, and the Lyra by Capt. Hall. 

Capt. Hall and a surgeon of one of the vessels, wrote 
each of them a narrative of the voyage, and an account of 
the people of Lewchew. From their narrative the fol- 
lovving particulars have been collected. 

" liie Island of Lewchew is about 60 miles long and 20 
broad ; it is situated in the happiest climate of the globe. 
Refreshed by the sea-breezes which blow over it at every 
period of the year, it is free from the extremes of heat ancl 
cold which oppress many other countries. The people 
seemed to enjoy robust health ; for we observed no dis- 
eased objects, nor beggars of any description." 

" On the approach of the ships, the astonished natives 
were perched on the surrounding rocks and heights, gaz- 
ing on the vessels as they entered. Soon after, several 
canoes came along-aside, containing some people in office, 
who wished to know to what country we belonged, and 
the nature of our visit." 

Being informed that the ships had been with an Ambas- 
sador to China — that they needed repairs &c.; the natives 
immediately sent carpenters to assist, but were assured 



34 Loo Choo Islanders. 

that there were carpenters on board, and that an asjlum 
was all that thej required during the time of the repair, 
with permissioa to take on board provisions and water. 

An immediate supply of bullocks, pigs, goats, fowls, 
eggs, ^nd other articles followed this intimation. Sup- 
plies of the same description being sent on board as often 
as was necessary for about six weeks ; but the chief 
authorities who sent them, refused any pay or remunera- 
tion whatever. 

It was intimated to this people that it was necessary to 
have a party on shore, such as ropemakers and smiths. 
They requested that this might not be done till they could 
hear from their king. But after a visit from one of the 
chiefs, several officers went on shore to an entertainment 
provided for them. 

" About this time a mutual friendship began to exist 
between us ; confidence took place of timidity ; and now 
instead of permitting only a few to visit the shore at a 
time, they fitted up the garden of a temple as a general 
arsenal for us." 

" Many of these islanders displayed a spirit of intelli- 
gence and genius. They all seemed to be gifted with a 
sort of politeness, whicli had the fairest claim to be termed 
natural ; for there was nothing constrained, nothing stiff 
or studied in it." 

" It was interesting to observe, indeed, how early the 
gentle and engaging manners of all classes here won 
upon the sailors, no less than upon the officers. The 
natives from the first were treated with entire confidence ; 
no watch was ever kept over them, nor were they ex- 
cluded from any part of the ships ; and not only was nothing 
stolen, but when any thing was lost, nobody even suspected 
for an instant that it had been taken by them." 

"That proud and haughty feeling of national superi- 
ority, so strongly existing among the common class of 
British seamen, which induces them to hold all foreigners 
cheap, was at this island completely subdued and tamed 
by the gentle manners and kind behaviour of the most 
pacific people in the world." 

" Although completely intermixed and often working* 
togetherj both on shore and on board, not a single quarrel 



Loo Choo Islanders. 35 

or complaint took place on either side during tlie whole 
of our stay. On the contrary, each succeeding day added 
to friendship and cordiality." 

" It was very interesting to observe the care which the 
natives took of the sick, whom they assisted all the way 
fr(|n the beach to the temple ; a number of people attend- 
ed to support such of them as had barely strength enough 
to walk. 

" When they were safely lodged, eggs, milk, fowls, and 
vegetables were brought for them ; and whenever any of 
them were tempted by the beauty of the scenery to walk 
out, several of the natives were ready to accompany 
them." 

" The administration of the government seems to par- 
take of the general mildness of the people, and yet it 
appears highly efficient, from the very great order which 
is always maintained, and the general diffusion of hap- 
piness." 

" Crimes are said to be very unfreqent among them, 
and they seem to go perfectly unarmed ; for we observed 
no warlike instruments of any description ! not even a 
bow or an arrow was to be seen." " And the natives 
always declared they had none. They denied having any 
knowledge of war, either by experience or tradition." 

" We never saw any punishments inflicted at Loo Choo : 
a tap with a fan, or an angry look, was the severest chas- 
tisement ever resorted to, as far as we could discover. In 
giving orders, the chiefs were mild, though firm ; and the 
people always obeyed with cheerfulness." 

" When they saw the effect of our fowling pieces in the 
hands of some of the gentlemen, they begged that they might 
not kill the birds, which they were always glad to see flying 
about their houses. An order was immediately issued 
to desist from this sort of sporting." 

" The period of our departure being now fixed, all our 
stores were embarked on the evening of tlie 26th of Octo- 
ber. The next morning, the Lewchews, as a mark of 
respect, arrayed themselves in their best apparel, and 
proceeding to the temple, olfered up to their gods a sol- 
emn sacrifice, invoking them to protect the Engelees, to 
avert every danger, and restore them in safety to their 
own land. 



36 hoo Choo Islanders. 

" Tn the manner of this adieu, there was an air of sub- 
limity and benevolence, by far more touching to the heart, 
than the most refined compliments of a more civilized 
people. It was the genuine benignity of artless nature, 
and of primitive innocence. 

" Immediately following this solemnity, our particular 
friends crowded on board to shake hands and say — Fare- 
well ! whilst the tears, which many of them shed, evinced 
the sincerity of their attachment." 

" We stood out seaward, and the breeze being favora- 
ble, this happy island soon sunk from our view ; but it 
will be long remembered by the officers and the crews; 
for the kindness and hospitality of its inhabitants have 
fixed upon every mind a deep and lasting impression of 
gratitude and esteem." 



What is related of this newly discovered people is truly 
interesting. It affords reason to hope that the character 
of men and the condition of society may yet be so im- 
proved, as to change this military world into a paradise of 
love and peace. 

Had the Lewchews possessed "that proud and haughty 
feeling of national superiority, so strongly existing among 
the common class of British seamen," it is not improbable 
that there would have been contention and bloodshed 
between them and the English. 

But so far from this was the fact, that this spirit on the 
part of the British seamen was " completely tamed and 
subdued by the gentle and kind behavior of the most 
pacific people in the world !" 

How much then have Christian nations been mistaken 
in supposing that a martial spirit and a warring atti- 
tude, are the best security against acts of violence and 
invasion ! If they will not listen to the instructions of the 
gospel, let them go to Loo Choo, and learn the art of 
peace ! 

The feelings and reflections of the Britons on leaving 
this pacific people are expressed in the following lines of 
poetry, which were written by Mr. Gillard, the clerk of the 
Lyra. 



The Farewell ST 

THE FAREWELL. 

The sails are set ; the anchor weigh'd ; 

Their course south-west, the ships pursue 
And friendly signs at parting made. 

We bid the land a last adieu ! 

From crowded boats that grace our wake. 

In cap and vest but seldom wore. 
Their last Farewell the natives take. 

And half reluctant seek the shore. 

Each cliff's rude height and sea- worn base 

Presents a silent gazing throng ; 
Where e'en regret may find a place. 

As swift the vessels pass along. 

There too the stone enclosure stands. 

Within whose high extensive walls. 
The Pagan native lifts his hands 

And on his wooden idol calls. 

Yet ye, who boast the Christian name. 

Blush at a deed which truth must tell- 
Hither they brought the sick and lame 
And bade them in their temples dwell. 

Farewell, dear isle I—on you may breath 

Of civil discord never blow ! 
Far from your shores be plague and death. 

And far— oh ! far— the hostde foe \ 

To distant climes our course we steer, 
Where fashion boasts her splendid reign ; 

Where science, fame and wealth appear, 
Wiiile luxui-y revels in their train. 

Meanwhile, ne'er 'mid your smiling scenes 
May pride and fierce ambition spring ! 

Ne'er may they know what misery means. 
Which vice and dissipation bring ! 

Still on your sons may plenty shine. 

Still may thy happiness increase, 
And friendship long their hearts entwine 

With love, with innocence, and peace. 

4 



B8 Character of Kuma Pompilius. 

JVo. 17. Character of Numa Pompilius. 

Romulus, the founder of Rome, was a warrior ; and he 
so infused his martial spirit into his subjects, that every 
Roman was a soldier. Plutarch says they had become 
" hard as iron by war." 

After the death of Romulus, Numa was requested by 
the people to become their king. This request he for 
some time rejected, alleging, that his love of peace and 
retirement disqualified him for reigning over a people who 
delighted in war. 

The people, however, persisted in their solicitations ; 
and his father and Marcus strongly urged his acceptance. 
In reply to his objections they told him, "that he was not 
endued with so great a love of equity and virtue, to bury 
them in solitude ; that the throne is an eminence whence 
virtue shows itself to advantage ; — 

" And that perhaps Rome, influenced by the royal ex- 
ample, might moderate her pride, and the love of arms 
be succeeded by a respect for religion." This reasoning 
was too powerful to be resisted ; and Numa accepted the 
royal dignity. 

" Numa's natural disposition for moderation, probity, 
and justice, had been strengthened by a proper education. 
Early inured to industry and labor, and extremely averse 
to ambition and violence, he infused the same sentiments 
into the minds of his subjects." 

By his wisdom he " first allayed the internal dissen- 
sions that had previously existed among the Romans, and 
then formed such regulations as might preserve peace and 
cause justice to flourish.^' 

"He very judiciously began with himself, dismissing 
the three hundred celeres, formed by Romulus, as a guard 
to attend the king; not wishing to reign over a people he 
distrusted, and thinking it improper to distrust a people 
who had compelled him to reign over them." 

"He acknowledged a First Principle of all things, who 
is invisible, incorruptible, and purely intelligent; and for 
this reason forbade the Romans to represent God in the 
form of man or beast." 



Character of Kuma Pompilius, 39 

^ He dedicated himself," says Livy, " entirely to the 
service of the citizens and strangers, to whom he was 
counsellor, arbiter and judge. All formed their nianners 
by those of the king, whom they took for their sole 
pattern." 

" Hence the nations about him, who had before consid- 
ered Rome more like a camp than a city, conceived such 
a reverence for them, that they would have thought it a 
sort of impiety to have attacked a people wholly intent on 
serving God and making men happy. 

" A wonderful change of manners also prevailed in the 
neighbouring cities, as if Numa's wisdom had been a 
plentiful fountain, from which the streams of virtue and 
justice had flowed into the minds of the people. 

** Instead of martial ardor, an eager desire to live in 
peace, to cultivate their lands, and thus to bring up their^ 
children, infused into their minds the same tranquillity, 
which reigned in his own." 

" He became the arbiter of all the differences among the 
neighbouring nations ; and as to the Romans themselves, 
it might be literally said, that the weapons of war were 
changed into instruments of husbandry. 

*' No intestine seditions, no ambitious desires for the 
throne, nor so much as any murmurs against the person 
or administration of the king appeared among them. 

" When he died, they lamented him as sincerely, as if 
every man had lost his own father ; and the concourse of 
strangers at Rome, to celebrate his obsequies, was exceed- 
ingly great." 



THE SWORD AND THE PLOUGH 



^HARE. 



As in this world of chance and change 
Incongruous characters must range. 

They sometimes strangely meet : 
Unwonted guest in sylvan scene, 
A sword, upon the village green. 

Beheld a Ploughshare set 



40 The Sword and the Ploughshare, 

" How I lament thy abject state ! 
Mid rustics, doomed by adverse fate. 

To live in dust and clay ! 
I, in the hand of Mars, may shine 
Or grasped by Pallas, maid divine. 

Emit a brighter ray : 

" I then shall flash vi^ith lightning gleam — 
At my command the sanguine stream 

Shall flow^ mid corses pale — 
Or, should my pride of strength arise, 
I rule the nations' destinies. 

Where law and justice fail." 

"And I," the Ploughshare calm replied, 
" I should abhor, with barbarous pride, 

In human blood to lave ; 
T joy the wide champaign to view. 
Where fern and dock and thistles grew 

With yellow harvest wave. 

" I too, could such a tribute please, 
Might boast beyond the eastern seas. 

The triumph of my sway ; 
As public proof of just respect. 
Imperial hands my course direct. 

Through fields of rich Cathay. 

"But I such vain applause disclaim — 
I slight the candidate for fame. 

With barren laurels crowned ; 
More dear is humble life to me. 
And I my highest honor see 

In shedding blessings round. 

"Nor thou my lowly toil deride, 

For thou must bend thy heart of pride. 

My useful arts to learn ! 
Yes, * lambs with wolves shall range the mead, 
,\nd flowing bands the tiger lead. 

And Swords to Ploughshares turn,' " 

Herald of Peace. 



Society of Animals. 41 

JVo. 18. Society of Animals. 

It is needless to remark that man holds the first rank in 
animal associations. If men did not assist each other, no 
operation of any magnitude could possibly be effected. 
A single family, or even a few families united, like otheff 
carnivorous animals, might hunt their prey, and procure a 
sufficient quantity of food. 

Man, even in his most uninformed state, possesses the 
germs of every species of knowledge and of genius. But 
they must be cherished, expanded and brougm gradually 
to perfection. It is by numerous and regularly estab- 
lished societies alone that such glorious exhibitions of 
human intellect can be produced. 

Next to the intelligence exhibited in human society, 
that of the beavers' is tlie most conspicuous. Their opera- 
tions in preparing, fashioning, and transporting the heavy 
materials for building their winter habitations are truly 
astonishing; and when we read their history, we are apt 
to think that we are perusing the history of man in a 
period of society not inconsiderably advanced. 

They never quarrel or injure one another, but live 
together in different numbers in the. most perfect harmony. 
Their association presents a model of a pure and perfect 
republic, the only basis of which is mutual attachment. 
They have no law but the law of love and of parental 
affection. Humanity prompts us to wish that it were 
possible to establish republics of this kind among men. 

Pairing birds, in some measure, may be considered as 
forming proper societies ; because in general the males 
and females mutually assist each other in building nests 
and feeding their young. 

The honey-bees not only labor in common with aston- 
ishing assiduity, but their" whole attention and affections 
seem to centre in the person of their queen, or sovereign 
of the hive. While some are busily employed at home ia 
constructing the cells, others are equally industrious in 
the fields, collecting materials for carrying on the work. 

If bees did not associate and mutually assist one another 
in their various operations, the species would soon be an- 
nihilated. But Nature has endowed their minds with an 
4* 



42 Fable of the Bee, the Ant, and the Sparrow* 

associating principle, and with instincts which stimulate 
them to perform all those wonderful operations that are 
necessary for the existence of individuals, and the contin- 
uation of the species. 

The ants not only associate for the purpose of construct- 
ing their habitations, but for cherishing and protecting 
their young. Every person must have observed, when 
part of a nest is suddenly exposed, their extreme solici- 
tude for the preservation of their chrysalids or nymphs, 
which often exceed the size of the animals themselves. 

With amazing dexterity and quickness the ants trans- 
port their nymphs into the subterraneous galleries of the 
nest, and place them beyond the reach of any common 
danger. The fortitude with which they defend their 
young is no less astonishing. The wisdom and foresight 
of the ants have been celebrated from remotest antiquity. 

Another kind of society is observable among domestic 
animals. Horses and oxen, when deprived of companions 
of their own species, associate, and discover a visible 
attachm.ent. A dog and an ox, or a dog and a cow, when 
placed in certain circumstances, acquire a strong affection 
for each other. The same kind of association takes place 
between dogs and cats, between cats and birds &c. 

Smellie* 



JVo. 19. Fable of the Bee, the Ant, and 
the Sparrow. 

—One summer's morn 
A Bee rang'd o*er the verdant lawn ; 
Studious to husband every hour. 
And make the most of every flower ; 
Nimble from stalk to stalk she flies. 
And loads with yellow wax her thighs ; 
Thus she dischaig'd in every way 
The various duties of the day. 

It chanc'd a frugal Ant was near, 
"Whose brow was wrinkled o'er by care ; 



Fable of the Bee, the Ant, and the Sparrow. 4S 

A great economist was she, 
Nor less laborious than the Bee ; 
Bj pensive parents often taught 
W hat ills arise from want of thought. 

The active Bee with pleasure saw 
The Ant fulfil her parents law, 
Ah ! sister laborer, says she. 
How very fortunate are we ! ^ 

Who, taught in infancy to know 
The comforts which from labor flow. 
Are independent of the great, 
Nor know the wants of pride and state. 

Why is our food so very sweet ? 
Because we earn before we eat. 
Why are our wants so very few ? 
Because we nature's calls pursue. 
Whence our complacency of mind ? 
Because we act our parts assign'd. 

A wanton Sparrow long'd to hear 
Their sage discourse, and straight drew near. 
She found, as on a spray she sat. 
The little friends were deep in chat ; 
That virtue was their fav'rite theme. 
And toil and probity their scheme ; 
Such talk was hateful to her breast ; 
She thought them arrant prudes at best. 

When to display her naughty mind 
Hunger with cruelty combin'd. 
She view'd the Ant with savage eyes. 
And hopp'd and hopp'd to snatch her prize. 
The Bee, who watch'd her op'ning bill. 
And guess*d her fell design to kill, 
Ask'd her from what her anger rose. 
And why she treated Ants as foes ? 

The Sparrow her reply began, 
And thus the conversation ran : 
Whenever I'm disposed to dine, 
l think the whole creation mine ; 



44 Fahle of the Bee^ the Ant, and the Sparrow, 

That I'm a bird of high degree, 
And everj insect made for me, 
And oft, in wantonness and play, 
I si a J ten thousand in a day. 

Oh ! fie ! the honest Bee replied, 
I fear you make base men your guide ; 
Of every creature sure the worst, 
Though in creation's scale the first ! 
Ungrateful man 1 'tis strange he thrives. 
Who burns the Bees to rob their hives ! 

But spare the Ant — her worth demands 
Esteem and friendship at your hands. 
A mind with every virtue blest. 
Must raise compassion in your breast. 

Virtue ! rejoin'd the sneering bird. 
Where did you learn that Gothic word? 
Since I was hatch'd I never heard 
That virtue was at all rever'd. 

Trust me. Miss Bee — to speak the truth, 
I've copied men from earliest youth ; 
The same our taste, the same our school. 
Passion and appetite our rule ; 
And call me bird, or call me sinner, 
I'll ne'er forego my sport or dinner. 

A prowling cat the miscreant spies, 
And wide expands her amber eyes : 
Near and more near grimalkin draws ; 
She wags her tail, protends her paws ; 
Then, springing on her thoughtless prey. 
She bore the vicious bird away. 
Thus, in her cruelty and pride. 
The wicked wantoil Sparrow died. 

Br» Cotton, 



Corruption of JVews Writers, 45 

JVo. 20. Corruption of News Writers. 

One of the amusements of idleness, is reading without 
the fatigue of close attention, and the world therefore 
swarms with critics whose wish is not to be studied, but 
to be read. 

No species of literary men has lately been so much 
multiplied as the writers of news. Not many years ago 
the nation was content with one gazette.* 

But now we have, not only in the metropolis, papers for 
every morning and every evening, but almost every lar^e 
town has its weekly historian, who regularly circulates his 
periodical intelligence. 

To write news in its perfection requires such a combi- 
nation of qualities, that a man completely fitted for the 
task is not always to be found. 

In Sir Henry Watton's jocular definition. An Ambas- 
sador is said to be a man of virtue sent abroad to tell lies 
for the advantage of his country / a JS*ews-writer is a man 
without virtue, who writes lies at home for his oivn profit. 

To these compositions is required neither genius nor 
knowledge, neither industry nor sprightliness ; but con- 
tempt of shame and indifference to truth are absolutely 
necessary. 

He who by long familiarity with infamy has obtained 
these qualities, may confidently tell to-day what he 
intends to contradict to-morrow ; he may affirm fearlessly 
what he knows he shall be obliged to recant, and may 
write letters from Amsterdam or Dresden to himself. 

In a time of war the nation is always of one mind, eager 
to hear something good of themselves, and ill of the 
enemy. 

At this time the task of news writers is easy ; they 
have nothing to do but to tell that a battle is expected, 
and afterwards that a battle has been fought, in which we 
and our friends, whether conquering or conquered, did 
all, and our enemies did nothing. 

Scarcely any thing awakens attention like a tale of 
cruelty. The writer of news never fails in the intermia- 

" This article was written in London, 1758. 



46 Ode to God. 

sion of action to tell how the enemies murdered children 
and abused virgins; and, if the scene of action b^ 
distant, scalps half the inhabitants of a province. 

Amonff the calamities of war may be justlj numbered 
the diminution of the love of truth, by the falsehoods 
which interest dictates and credulity encourages. 

A peace will equally leave the warrior and the ralater 
of war, destitute of eraploymcnt ; and I know not whether 
more is to be dreaded from streets filled with soldiers 
accustomed to plunder, or from garrets filled with scrib- 
blers accustomed to lie, 

Johnson. 



J^o.m. Ode to God. 

O Thou eternal One ! whose presence bright 
All space doth occupy, all motion guide ; 
Unchanged through time's all -devastating flight j 
Thou only God ! There is no God beside ! 
Being above all beings ! Mighty one ! 
Whom none can comprehend and none explore ', 
Who fiU'st existence with Thyself olone : 
Embracing all, — supporting, — ruling o'er, — 
Being whom we call God — and know no more ! 

Thy chains the unmeasured universe surround : 
Upheld by Thee, by Thee inspired with breath ! 
Thou the beginning with the end hast bound. 
And beautifully mingled life and death ! 
As sparks mount upwards from the fiery blaze. 
So suns are born, so worlds spring forth from Thee ; 
And as the spangles in the sunny rays 
Shine round the silver snow, the pageantry 
Of heaven's bright army glitters in Thy praise. 

A million torches lighted by Thy hand 
Wander unwearied through the blue abyss : 
They own Thy power, accomplish Thy command 
All gay with fife, all eloquent with bliss. 



Ode to God, 47 

What shall we call them ? Piles of crystal light — 
A glorious company of golden streams — 
Lamps of celestial ether burning bright — 
Suns lighting systems with their joyous beams ? 
But Thou to these art as the noon to night. 

Yes ! as a drop of water in the sea, 

All this magnificence in Thee is lost : — 

What are ten thousand worlds compared to Thee ? 

And what am /then ? Heaven's unnumber'd host. 

Though multiplied by myriads, and arrayed 

In all the glory of sublimest thought. 

Is but an atom ia the balance weighed 

Against Thy greatness, is a cypher brought 

Against infinity ! What am 1 then ? Nought ! 

Nought ! But the effluence of Thy light divine, 
Pervading worlds, hath reach "d my bosom too ; 
Yes ! in my spirit doth Thy spirit shine 
As shines the sun-beam in a drop of dew. 
Nought ! but I live, and on hope's pinions fly 
Eager towards Thy presence ; for in Thee 
I live, and breathe, and dwell ; aspiring high. 
Even to the throne of Thy divinity. 
I am, God ! and surely Thou must be ! 

Thou art ! directing, guiding all. Thou art ! 

Direct my understanding then to Thee ; 

Control my spirit, guide my wandering heart : 

Though t)ut an atom midst immensity. 

Still I am something, fashioned by Thy hand ! 

I hold a middle rank *twixt heaven and earth, 

X)n the last verge of mortal being stand, 

Close to the realms where angels have their birth. 

Just on the boundaries of the spirit land ! 

Creator, yes ! Thy wisdom and thy word 
Created me J Thou source of life and good ! 
Thou spirit of my spirit, and my Lord I 
Thy light. Thy love, in their bright plenitude 
Filled me with an immortal soul, to spring 



43 The Whale, 

Over the abyss of death, and bade it wear 
The garments of eternal day, and wing 
Its heavenly flight beyond this little sphere. 
Even to its source — to thee— its Author there. 

O thoughts ineffable ! O visions blest ! 
Though worthless our conceptions all of Thee, 
Yet shall Thy shadowed image fill our breast. 
And waft its homage to Thy Deity. 
God ! thus alone my lowly thoughts can soar ; 
Thus seek Thy presence — Being wise and good ! 
'Midst Thy vast works admire, obey, adore ; 
And when the tongue is eloquent no more. 
The soul shall speak in tears of gratitude. 

Derzhavin- 



Xo. 33. The Whale. 

If we compare land animals, in respect to magnitude, 
with those of the deep, they will appear contemptible in 
the comparison. It is probable indeed that quadrupeds 
once existed much larger than we find them at present. 

From skeletons of some that have been dug up at dif- 
ferent times, it is evident that there must have been 
terrestrial animals twice as large as the elephant. But 
creatures of sucl; an immense bulk required a proportion- 
able extent of ground for subsistence, and, by being rivals 
with men for large territory, they must have been destroyed 
in the contest. 

It is not only upon land that man has exerted his power 
of destroying the larger tribes of Animated Nature ; he 
has extended his efforts even in the midst of the ocean. 
We now no longer hear of whales 200 and 250 feet long, 
which we are certain were often seen two centuries ago. 

Taking the whale, however, at the ordinary size of 
eighty feet long and twenty feet high, what an enormous 
animated mass must it apjjear to the spectator ! With 
what amazement must it stiike him to behold so great a 
creature gambolling in the deep with the ease and agilitj 
of the smallest animal, and making its way with incredible 
swiftness. 



The IVhale. 49 

The whale makes use only of its tail, to advance itself 
forward in the water. This serves as a great oar to push 
its mass along ; and it is surprising to see with what force 
and celerity its enormous bulk cuts through the ocean. 

The cleft of the mouth is near one third of the animal's 
whole length. The upper jaw is furnished with barbs, 
that lie like the pipes of an organ ; the greatest in the 
middle and the smallest on the sides. These compose the 
whalebone, the longest spars of which are found to be no 
less than eighteen feet. 

. Their fidelity to each other exceeds whatever we are 
told of even the constancy of birds. Some fishers, as 
Anderson informs us, having struck one of two whales, a 
male and female, that were in company together; the 
wounded fish made a long and terrible resistance ; it 
struck down a boat with three men in it, with a single 
blow of its tail, by which all went to the bottom. 

The other still attended its companion, and lent it 
every assistance ; till at last the fish that was struck sunk 
under the number of its wounds ; while its faithful asso- 
ciate, disdaining to survive the loss, with great bellowings 
stretched itself on the dead fish and shared its fate. 

Nothing can exceed the tenderness of the female for 
her offspring ; she carries it with her wherever she goes, 
and when hardest pursued, keeps it supported between 
her fins. Even when wounded, she still clasps her young 
one ; and when she plunges to avoid danger, takes it to 
the bottom ; but rises sooner than usual to give it breath 
again. 

The Nar-whale or Sea-Unicorn is not so large as the 
Whale, not being above sixty feet long. But t'lis great 
animal is suificiently distinguished by its tooth or teeth, 
which stand pointing directly forward from the upper 
jaw, and are from nine to fourteen feet long. This terri- 
ble weapon is generally found single. 

Yet the Nar-whale is one of the most harmless and 
peaceable inhabitants of the ocean. It is seen constantly 
and inoffensively sporting with other great monsters of th^ 
deep, no way attempting to injure them, but pleased in 
their company. 

5 



50 The smallest ofknown Animals. 

The Cachalot or Spermaceti whale is not of such enor- 
mous size as the whale properly so called, not being 
above sixty feet long and sixteen feet high. In the 
stomach of the whale scarce any thing is to be found ; but 
in that of the Cachalot there are loads of fish of different 
kinds, some whole, some half digested, some small, and 
others eight or nine feet long. 

Goldsmith, 



J^o. S3. The smallest ofknown 
Animals. 

These creatures, the smallest with which we are 
acquainted, are called animalcules of infusion. They are 
thus named, because they are produced in infusions, and 
are such diminutive animals. 

For their production nothing more is required than to 
pour water on any animal or vegetable substance, and let 
the infusion stand four or five days in a nioderately warm 
room, when a species of fermentation will take place in 
the liquor, a slimy skin will grow over it, and an immense 
multitude of these animalcules, visible only by means of 
tlie magnifying glass, will be found in the fluid. 

Of the numerous infusions with which 1 have made 
experiments, none afforded me such multitudes of animal- 
cules as thyme. If you put as much thyme as may be 
taken up between the ends of the thumb and two fingers 
into a wine glass, fill the glass with pure water, and let it 
stand four days, you will be truly astonished, when you 
look at a drop of it through a microscope. 

Millions of animalcules swim about in it, and the celer- 
ity of their motions is so great, that it makes the eye 
almost giddy. Wonderful! you will sav;— whence do 
these creatures come ? where were they before ? 

It is wonderful, indeed, my young friend ; and who is 
there, to whom these questions will not suggest themselves, 
when he discovers an ocean of animated beings in a drop 
of^ water, where a little before notliing was to be dis- 
cerned } 



S Batik. 51 

The apparent size of these animalcules varies greatly.. 
With a glass that magnifies the diameter of an object three 
hundred times, some appear about the size of a small bug, 
seen at a distance of eight inches from the eye. 

Others ttrst size of a louse, others still smaller ; and 
lastly, at which I have been .the most astonished, among 
these larger animalcules may be seen an infinite number 
oi minute animated specks swimming about, which, with 
this great magnifying power, appear no bigger than the 
smallest mite, or finest grain of sand, does to the naked 
eye ; yet their voluntary motion is clearly perceptible. 
^ You will ask me, my young readers, how big the largest 
of these animalcules of infusion may be. I shall en- 
deavour to give you some conception of their minuteness. 
Upwards of 200 of the largest may be contained in the 
space occupied by one of the smallest grains of sand. A 
little mite is to cue of these much the same as a turkey to 
a sparrow. 

The numbers of these animalcules surpass all concep- 
tion. Since there are so many thousands in a single drop, 
what multitudes must there be in a wine glass, that 
apparently contains nothing but a little dirty water ! 
What in a puddle or ditch, where animal and vegetable 
substances putrefy together ! 

How infinite this world of organized living beings, all 
of which are provided with instruments of motion and 
nutrition ! 

Vieth — Pleasing Preceptor, 



JV'o. ^4. A Battle. 

Science and revelation concur, in teaching that this 
ball of earth, which man inhabits, is not the only world ; 
that millions of globes, like ours, roll in the immensity of 
space. The sun, the moon, " those seven nightly wander- 
ing fires," those twinkling stars are worlds. 

There doubtless dwell other moral, and intellectual 
natures ; angelic spirits ; passing what man calls time, in 
one untired pursuit of truth and duty ; still seeking ; still 



;#2 A Battle, 

exploring, ever satisfying, ne%^er satiating, the ethereal, 
moral, intellectual thirst ; whose delightful task it is, — as 
it should be ours, — to learn the wijl of the Eternal Father ; 
io seek the good, which to that end — for them and us to 
seek, — be hides ; and finding, to adnure, adore, and 
praise, — "him first, him last, him midst and without end." 

Imagine one of these celestial spirits, bent on this great 
purpose, descending upon our globe ; and led, by chance, 
to an European plain, at the point of some great battle ; 
on which, to human eye, reckless and blind to overruling 
Heaven, the fate of states and empires is suspended. 

On a sudden, the field of combat opens on his astonished 
vision. It is a field, which men call, " glorious." A 
hundred thousand warriors stand in opposed ranks. Light 
gleams on their burnished steels. Their plumes and ban- 
ners wave. Hill echoes to hill the noise of moving rank 
and squadron ; the neigh and tramp of steeds ; the trum- 
pet, drum, and bugle call. 

There is a momentary pause; — a silence, like that which 
precedes the fall of the thunderbolt ; like that awful still- 
ness, which is precursor to the desolating rage of the whirl- 
wind, in an instant, fiash succeeding flash pours columns 
of smoke along the plain. The iron tempest sweeps; 
heaping man, horse, and car, in undistinguished ruin. 

In shouts of rushing hosts, — in shock of breasting steeds, 
—»in peals of musquetry— -in artillery's roar, — in sabres' 
clash, — in thick and gathering clouds of smoke and dust, 
all human eye, and ear, and sense are lost. Man sees not, 
but the sign of onset. Man hears not, but the cry of — 
" onward." 

Not so, the celestial stranger. His spiritual eye, unob- 
scured by artificial night, his spiritual ear, unaffected by 
meclanic noise, witness the real scene, naked, in all its 
cruel horrors. 

He sees, — lopped and bleeding limbs scattered, — gashed, 
dismeaibered trunks, outspread, gore-clotted, lifeless ; — 
brains bursting from crushed sculls ; blood gushing from 
sabred necks; severed heads, whose mouths mutter rage, 
amidst the palsying of the last agony. 

He hears— the mingled cry of anguish and despair, 
issuing from a thousand bosoms, in which a thousand 



A Battle. . 5S 

bayonets turn, — the convulsive scream of anguish from 
heaps of mangled, half-expiring victims, over whom the 
heavy artillery-wheels lu.iiber and crush into one mass, 
bone, and muscle, and sinev/ ; — while the fetlock of the 
war-horse drips with blood, starting from the last palpi- 
tation of the burst heart, on which his hoof pivots. 

" This is not earth," — would not such a celestial strang- 
er exclaim ; — " This is not earth" — " this is hell ! This 
is not man, but demon, tormenting demon." 

Thus exclaiming, would not he speed away to the skies? 
His immortal nature unable to endure the folly, the crime, 
and the madness of man. 

If in this description, there be nothing forced, and 
nothing exaggerated ; if all great battles exhibit scenes, 
like these, only multiplied ten thousand times, in every 
awful form, in every cruel feature, in every heart rending 
circumstance ; will society in a high state of moral and 
intellectual improvement endure their recurrence ? 

As light penetrates the mass, and power with light, and 
purity with powei-, will men, in any country, consent to 
entrust their peace and rights, to a soldiery like that of 
Europe, described as "a needy, sensual, vicious cast, 
reckless of God and man, and mindful only of their 
officer ?" 

"Revolutions go not backward." Neither does the 
moral and intellectual progress of the multitude. Light 
is shining where once there was darkness ; and is pen- 
etrating and purifying the once corrupt and enslaved 
portions of our species. 

It may, occasionally, and for a season, be obscured ; or 
seem retrograde. But light, moral and intellectual, shall 
continue to ascend to the zenith until that, which is now 
dark, shall be in day; and much of that earthly crust, 
■which still adheres to man, shall fall and crumble away, 
as his nature becomes elevated. 

With this progress, it needs no aid from prophecy, none 
from revelation, to foretel that war, the greatest, yet 
remaining curse and shame of our race, shall retire to the 
same cave, where " Pope and Pagan" have retired, to be 
remembered only, with a mingled sentiment of disgust 
and wonder, like the war-feast of the savage ; li-ke the 
5* 



54 J^ Battle. 

perpetual slavery of captives ; like the pledge of revenge, 
in the scull-bowl of Odin ; like the murder of helots in 
Greece, and of gladiators, in Rome ; like the witch -burn- 
ings, the Smithfield-fires, and St. Bartholomew-massacres, 
of modern times. ^uincy. 

First Envj, eldest born of Hell, embrued 
Her hands in blood and taught the sons of men 
To make a death which nature never made, 
And God abhorred ; with violence rude to break 
The thread of life ere half its length was run. 
And rob a wretched brother of his being. 
With joy ambition saw, and soon improved 
The execrable deed. "Twas not enough 
By subtle fraud to snatch a single life ; 
Puny impiety!' whole kingdoms fell 
To sate the lust of power; more horrid still. 
The foulest stain and scandal of our nature 
Became its boast. One murder made a villain, 
JSIillions a hero^ Princes assumed a right 
To kill ; did numbers sanctify the crime ? 
Ah ! why will kings iorget that they are men? 
And men that they are brethren ? Why delight 
In human sacrifice ? Why burst the ties 
Of^Nature, that should knit their souls together 
In o^e soft bond of amity and love ? 
Yet still they breathe destruction, still go on 
Inhumanly, ingenious to find out 
New pains for life, new terrors for th : grave. 
Artificers of Death ! still monarchs dream 
Of universal empire growing up 
From universal ruin. Blast the design, 
Great God of Hosts, nor let thy creatures fall 
Unpitied victims at Ambition's" shrine ! 

Bishop Porteus, 

Then let the sons of peace unite. 
To bless and save our erring race- 
Diffuse the beams of gospel light. 
And banish war as man's disgrace. 

Repository-. 



On the fasciriating power of Serpents. 55 

JVo. 25. On the fascinating power of 
Serpents. 

Ever since I have been accustomed to contemplate the 
objects of nature with a degree of minute attention, I have 
considered the whole storj of the enchanting faculty of 
the rattle-snake and of other serpents, as destitute of a 
solid foundation. 

In conducting mj inquiries into this curious subject, I 
thought it would be proper and even necessary, to ascer- 
tain the following points, viz. First : What species of 
birds are most frequently observed to be enchanted by 
serpents ? and secondly, at what season of the year has 
any particular species been most commonly seen under 
this wonderful influence ? 

I was inclined to believe that the solution of these two 
questions would serve as a clue to the investigation of 
what has been long considered as one of the most myste- 
rious operations in nature. 1 am persuaded that I have 
not been mistaken. 

Some birds Duild their nests on the summits of the 
loftiest trees ; others suspend them in a pendulous man- 
ner at the extremity of a branch or even a leaf, whilst 
others build them on the lower branches, among bushes or 
in the hollows of trees. Many species, again, are content 
vvith the ground, laying their eggs and hatching them, in 
the cavity of a stone, an excavation of the earth, among 
the grass of fields and meadows, or in the fields of wheat, 
rye and other grains. 

Of all these birds, those which build their nests upon 
the ground, on the lower branches of the trees, and on low 
bushes, have most freijuently been observed to be under 
the enchanting faculty of snakes. Indeed the bewitching 
spirit of these serpents seems to be almost entirely hmited 
to these kinds of birds. 

The rattie-snake is sometimes seen at the root of a tree, 
upon the lower branches of which a bird or a squirrel has 
been seen exhibiting symptoms of fear and distress. Is 
this a matter of wonder ^ Nature Jjar^taught different 
animals, what animals are their enemies. When the 

\ 



56 On the fascinating power of^Serpents, 

reptile, therefore, lies at the foot of a tree, the bird oi^ 
the squirrel will feel uneasy. 

That it will sometimes run towards the serpent, then 
retire and return again, I will not deny. But that it is 
irresistibly drawn into the jaws of the serpent, I do deny; 
because it is frequently seen to drive the serpent from his 
hold, because the bird or squirrel often returns in a few- 
minutes to its habitation. 

Sometimes the bird or squirrel in attempting to drive 
away the snake, approaches too near to the enemy and is 
bitten or immediately devoured. But these instances are 
not so common as is generally imagined. 

My inquiries concerning the season of the year, afforded 
me still greater satisfaction. In almost every instance, I 
found that the supposed fascinating faculty of the serpent 
was exerted upon birds at the particular season of their 
laying their eggs, of their hatching, or of their rearing 
their young, still tender and defenceless. 

I now began to suspect that the cries and fears of birds 
supposed to be fascinated, originated, in an endeavour to 
protect their nest or young. My inquiries have con- 
vinced me that this is the case. 

The rattle-snake does not climb up trees ; but the 
black-snake and some other species do. Wiien impelled 
by hunger, and incapable of satisfying it by the capture of 
animals on the ground, they begin to glide up trees. The 
bird is not ignorant of the serpent's object. She leaves 
itier nest and endeavours to oppose the reptiles progress. 
In doing this, she is actuated by the strength of her attach- 
ment to her eggs, or of affection to her young' Her cry is 
melancholy, her motions are tremulous* She exposes her- 
self to the most imminent danger. 

Sometimes she approaches so near the reptile, that he 
seizes her as his prey. But this is far from being univer- 
sally the case. Often she compels the serpent to leave the 
tree, and then returns to her nest. 

It is a well known fact that among some species of birds 
the female, at a certain period, is accustomed to compel 
the young ones to leave their nest. But they still claim 
some of her care. They fall to the ground where they are 
frequently exposed to the serpent which attempts to 
devour them. 



On the fascinating power of Serpents, o'^i 

In this situation of aiFairs, the mother will place herself 
upon a branch of a tree or bush, in the vicinity of the 
serpent. She will dart upon the serpent, in order to 
prevent the destruction of her young ; but fear will com- 
pel her to retire. 

She leaves the serpent, however, but for a short time, 
and then returns again. Oftentimes she prevents the 
destruction of her young, attacking the snake with her 
wings, her beak, or her claws. Should the reptile suc- 
ceed in capturing the young, the mother is exposed to 
less danger. For, while engaged in swallowing them, he 
has neither inclination nor power to seize the old one^ 

But the appetite of the serpent-tribe is great ^ the 
capacity of their stomachs is not less so. The danger of 
the mother is at hand, when the young are devoured. The 
snake seizes upon her ; and this is the catastrophe which 
crowns the tale of fascination. 

The following fact was communicated to me by Mr. 
Kittenhouse. I think it strikingly illustrates the system 
which I have been endeavouring to establish. I relate it 
therefore with pleasure, and the more so as I have no 
doubt that the authority of a cautious and enlightened 
philosopher will greatly contribute to the destruction of a 
superstitious notion, which disgraces the page of natural 
history. 

Some years since this ingenious gentleman was induced 
to suppose, from i\-\Q melancholy cry of a red-winged- 
maize -thief, that a snake was at no great distance from it, 
and that the bird was in distress. He threw a stone at 
the place from which the cry proceeded, which had the 
effect of driving the bird away. The poor animal, how= 
ever, immediately returned to the same place. 

Mr. Rittenhouse now went to the place where the bird 
alighted, and, to his astonishment, he found it perched 
upon the back of a large black-snake, which it was peck- 
ing with its beak. At this time the serpent was in the 
act of swallowing a young bird, and it was evident that it 
had swallowed two or three other young birds. After the 
snake was killed the old bird flew away. 

Mr. Rittenhouse says, that the cry and actions of this 
bird had been precisely similar to those of a bird which is 



58 The importance of Christian Education. 

supposed to be under the fascinating influence of a serpent ; 
and I doubt not this very instance would, by many credu- 
lous persons, have been adduced as a proof of the existence 
©f such a faculty. 

Br, Barton. 



JV\7. ^0. The importance of Christian 
Education. 

"^'rain up a child in the way he should go ; and when 
lie is old he will not depart from it." 

For what purpose were these words inserted in our 
Bibles ? To teach us that a virtuous education has a ten- 
dency to produce virtuous characters, and that early im- 
pressions usually have a lasting influence. 

In asserting the power of education, nothing is intended 
inconsistent with our entire dependence on God, or with 
the sentiment, that every good gift and every perfect gift 
are from above. 

The same God, who enjoins the duty and gives the 
encouragement, has established the connexion between 
a virtuous education and its salutary effects. It is His 
plan of operation which I wish to recommend. 

It is not, however, intended that a virtuous education 
invariably produces a virtuous character. The most 
faithful exertions may be counteracted by unfavorable 
causes, over which the parent has no control 

" He becometh poor that dealeth with a slack hand ; but 
the hand of the diligent maketh rich." Yet some who 
deal with a slack hand become rich by heirship to what 
others have earned ; and a hurricane may reduce a dili- 
gent man to poverty. 

Such scripture maxims are intended to express the 
natural tendency and the common effects of the conduct 
which they disapprove or recommend, and what may be 
expected in the ordinary course of Providence. 

*^ Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap." 
This remark of an Apostle is applicable to sowing in the 
minds of children. If parents sow the seeds of vice, they 



The imforiance of Christian Educatwn. 59 

aiaj expect a harvest of vice and sorrow. If they sow 
the seeds of virtue, they may expect virtue and happiness 
as tlie reward of their labors. 

The youthful mind is the most valuable soil for culti- 
vation. Parents should begin early to sow good seed ; 
for if they delay, an enemy will sow tares. The precepts 
and truths of the gospel are the best of se'ed, which, if 
duly sown, and received, will spring up unto eternal liie. 

In the season of spring the wise husbandman prepares 
his ground and casts in " the principal wheat," and looks 
to God for a blessing on his labors. 

In like manner the parent should do in regard to the 
minds of his children. In both cases human exertions are 
important ; in both, it is God who giveth the increase. 

Children come into the world destitute of any ideas or 
opinions relating to God or man. In this early state thej 
are neither Pagans nor Mahometans, Jews nor Christians. 

There is no object so mean that children may not be 
taught to adore it as a God ; no rite or custom so absurd, 
that they may not be made to regard it as essential to tbeir 
salvation. 

The ancient Egyptians had a religious veneration for the 
ox, the dog, the wolf, the crocodile and the cat. In 
Guinea one of the most celebrated deities was a serpent. 
Among the deities of the Hottentots was an insect. 

The ancestors of the present warring nations of Europe 
Xvorshipped deceased conquerors, who, while living, were 
desolators of countries and destroyers of their species. 

As wa^ the religious belief of parents in these several 
countiies, so was the belief of their children for ages in 
succession. Had we been educated under such circum- 
stances, our religious opinions might have been no better 
than theirs. 

^ Jewish children generally imbibe a veneration for Jewish , 
rites and ceremonies. The children of Mahometans are 
taught to regard Mahomet as a true prophet, and the Alco- 
ran as the word of God. 

The children of the different sects of Christians imbibe 
a regard for the peculiarities of their respective parents,—* 
especially is it so if the parents are truly pious, or much 
engaged in religion. 



60 Influence of Education in regard 

Habits as well as ojiinions are in a great measure the 
fruit of education. Some children while joung form 
habits of idleness, profaneness, irreligion and profligacy, 
which grow with their growth and bind them over to 
perdition. 

Others while young, form habits of diligence, piety, 
benevolence and usefulness, which command respect, 
prove a safeguard against the snares which surround them, 
and afford comforting hopes of their everlasting welfare. 

" Virtues like plants of nobler kind, 
Transferr'd from regions more refin'd 
The gardener's careful hand must sow ; 
His culturing hand must bid them grow ; 
Rains gently shower ; skies softly shine. 
And blessings fall from realms divine. 
Much time, and pain, and toil, and care. 
Must virtue's habits plant and rear : 
Habits alone through life endure. 
Habits alone your child secure ; 
To these be all your labours given ; 
To these your fervent prayer to Heaven, 
Nor faint, a thousand trials o'er. 
To see your pains effect no more. 
Love, duty, interest, bid you strive ; 
Contend, and yield not while you live : 
And know, for all your labours past^ 
Your eyes shall see a crop at last." 

Hr, Dwight. 



3Vb, 27. laflnence of Education in regard 
to Appetites and Passions. 

Those opinions and habits which result from education, 
have a powerful influence over the appetites and passions. 
The Egyptians wou:d sooner starve to death than eat the 
flesh of their deified aniiuals. 



to Appetites and Passions. 61 

Some of the nations of India will not eat the flesh of 
any animal of five senses. The religious opinions of the 
Jews restrain them from eating the flesh of swine, and of 
other animals, which, by the Mosaic law, were pronounced 
unclean. 

By education the savages of America regard revenge as 
a duty, and will expose themselves to great perils to 
gratify this passion ; nor is it uncommon to find such 
savages among professed Christians. 

But there are several sects of Christians who will, on 
no occasion, indulge the passion of revenge ; and happy it 
would be for the world, if all men were tlius governed by 
religious opinions. 

Hopes and fears are among the ingredients of human 
character, and have a powerful influence on the conduct 
of men. But nothing can be more evident, than that 
these are under the control of education. What object, 
visible or invisible, real or imaginary, may not be employed 
to excite the hopes or fears of a child r How often have 
objects merely imaginary been used for such purposes 
with astonishing effect ! 

In former ages a belief in the doctrines of witchcraft 
and apparitions was prevalent. Children imbibed this 
belief from parents or nurses, which exposed them to great 
fears and terrors. 

On the other hand, what hopes of approbation and favor 
have been excited in the children of Pagans by their 
belief in imaginary gods, of the most sanguinary character ! 

Children are capable of being strongly influenced by the 
hope of a parent's approbation, or by the fear of his dis- 
pleasure ; and by a proper education these passions of 
nope and fear may be so directed, as to ascend from an 
earthly to a heavenly Father. 

The fear of offending a good God, and the hope of 
Divine approbati<m, may become permanent traits in the 
character jof a child, excite him to obedience, and preserve 
him from sin in the hour of temptation. 

Before children are capable of judging for themselves, 
strong desires for some things, and aversion to others, may 
be implanted in their minds by their parents. 

One thing they may be led to desire with pleasing 
6 



62 Influence of Education 

anticipations, and another to shun with horror, without 
knowing the reason, why the one is esteemed and the 
other abhorred bj their parents. 

By prudent measures, parents may excite in their 
children a thirst for knowledge, and a desire for good 
books and pious instructions, and an aversion for books 
and instructions of an opposite character. 

Before children are capable of knowing the grounds of 
difference in the opinions of different sects of Christians, 
they may be imbued with sectarian prejudices, and be 
made to despise good men and good things. 

What man has been so good, or what truth so important, 
as not to have been despised through the influence of 
party or sectarian prejudices, in the people of some other 
denomination ? Truly, these things ought not so to be. 

Hence it becomes the duty of all parents and teachers 
to exercise that candor towards others, which they wish 
others to exercise towards themselves, lest their children 
be led astray by their pernicious examples. 

If parents and teachers were to feel as they ought to 
feel, it would be as easy to inspire children with pity and 
tenderness towards such as they are taught to regard as 
in error, as to infuse into their minds sentiments of aver- 
sion, disrespect and hatred. 



Remember thy Creator, God j 

For him thy powers employ; 

Make him thy fear, thy love, thy hope. 

Thy confidence, thy joy. 

He shall defend and guide thy course 

Through life's uncertain sea ; 

Till thou art landed on the shore 

Of blest eternity. 

Then seek the Lord betimes, and choose 

The path of heavenly truth; 

The earth affords no lovelier sight 

Thau a religious youth. 

Br. I)oddrids:e. 



•ill respect to the love of God. 63 

JVo. 28. The influenre of Efhicf>tion in 
respect to the love of God. 

God is the supreme object of love. But as he is invisi- 
ble, some may imagine that all means would be useless in 
respect to exciting in children love to him. This, how- 
ever, is a mistake. 

Suppose an affectionate husband and wife to have a son 
born, and that the father is immediately called to leave 
his beloved wife and son, and to go to a foreign country 
for ten 3^ears. During which period the son never sees his 
father. 

As soon as the child is capable of impressions, the 
mother begins to inspire his mind with sentiments of love, 
to his absent father, as one in whom she delights, and one 
who loves him. 

As the child advances, she shows him the letters and 
presents which she receives from the father, as proofs of 
his tender regard to herself and to the son ; and explains 
every thing in a manner adapted to excite love and 
veneration. 

What would naturally be the feelings of this child at 
eight or nine years of age ? If no influence is used with 
the child to counteract the desires of the mother, is it not 
very certain that this child would be growing up with 
fervent affection for his father, and a sincere desire to see 
him ? 

Let it then be remembered, that God is "our Father." 
A child may soon be made to understand something of the 
love and care of a good father, or what this title imports ; 
and such are the views, which should be impressed on the 
minds of children in relation to God. 

If we wish to excite in children love to :,uj absent 
person, we must represent that person as amiable, kind, 
just and friendly. The more evidence we can give that 
^uch is his character, the more sure we may be of exciting 
esteem. 

What a field then is opened to our view! What a 
treasure of affecting truths and facts to present to the 
minds of children, to excite love and veneration towards 



64 Love to mankind an imfortani 

their heavenly Father ! The word and the providence of 
God are full of the most impressive lessons. 

Their own existence, God's daily care in protecting 
them, providing for them, and his love in sending his Son 
to redeem and save them, may all be employed as means 
of awakening in' the minds of children the sentiments of 
love, gratitude and obedience. 



Our youth, devoted to the Lord, 
Is pleasing in his eyes ; 
A flower when oiTered in the bud, 
Is no vain sacrifice. 

'Tis easier work, if we begin 
To fear the Lord betimes ; 
While sinners, who grow old in sin. 
Are harden'd in their crimes. 

It saves us from a thousand snares 
To mind religion young ; 
With joy it crowns succeeding years^ 
And renders virtue strong. 

Watts, 



J\^o. S9. Love to mankind an important 
brancli of Education. 

Of all the branches of education, no one is more im- 
portant than that of cultivating love to the human race. 
For if we love not our brethren, whom we have seen, how- 
can we love God, whom we have not seen. 

Before children aie capable of speaking, they may 
receive i.ripressions by kind or unkind examples ; and 
great care should be taken that these early impressions be 
favorable to virtue. 

As soon as they are capable of being influenced by 
verbal instructions, they should be taught the precepts of 
Christian love ; and these precepts should be illustrated 
and enforced by the examples of their parents and 
instructers. 



branch of Education. 65 

Admonition, reproof and correction should ever be 
administered in the spirit of love and tender concern for 
the good of the child, and not in anger, ill will, or the 
spirit of revenge. 

Not only should parents exemplify a kind dispositioa 
towards each other, and all in. the family, but towards 
their neighbours and all mankind. On no occasion should 
they indulge the spirit of reviling, or of rendering evil for 
evil. 

Examples of piety, honesty and benevolence, should be 
constantly represented to children, as what is pleasing to 
God and worthy of imitation. 

When children become capable of reading, care should 
be taken in the selection of books for their use. Those 
which are at once instructive and entertaining should be 
preferred. Such as embellish vice, justify bad passions, 
or make light of sin, should never be put into the hands of 
children. Indeed, they should be banished from the 
world. 

The goodness of God to all men, in bestowing favors 
both on the just and on the unjust, will suggest powerful 
reasons for brotherly love. If God has so loved us, we 
ought also to love one another. His long-suffering to us 
should excite us to be long-suffering to all who share with 
us in his mercy. 

The example of our blessed Saviour should often be 
presented to the minds of children. Not merely his love 
in laying down his life for our salvation, but the meek, 
benevolent and forgiving spirit, which he displayed while 
he went about doing good 

The tender regard, also, which he manifested towards 
little children is worthy of special notice. " Suffer the 
little children," said he, " to come unto me and forbid 
them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven." 

** Permit them to approach, he cries. 
Nor scorn their humble name ; 
It was to bless such souls as these, 
The Lord of angels came." 

Doddridge, 



66 > Injtuence of Education and habit 

JVb. ?)0, Influence of Education and habit 
on Horses and Dogs. 

Kosciusko, the hero of Poland, wishing to send some 
bottles of wine to a clergyman, gave the commission to a 
young man by the name of Zeltner, and desired him to 
take the horse on which he himself usually rode. 

On his return young Zeltner said that he would never 
ride his horse again, unless he gave him his purse at the 
same time. Kosciusko inquiring what he meant, Zeltner 
answered : — 

" As soon as a poor man on the road takes off his hat 
and asks charity, the horse immediately stands still, and 
will not stir till something is given to the petitioner ; and 
as I had no money about me, I was obliged to feign giving 
something, to satisfy the horse. 



Between the years of 1750 and 1760 a Scottish lawyer 
of eminence made a journey to London, and, on his 
arrival, sold his horse. When about to return home, he 
purchased another horse, which proved to be one that had 
been educated to the business ot highway robbery. 

Next morning he set out on his journey, and met a 
clergyman in a chaise. The hor^, by his manoeuvre, 
plainly intimated what had been the profession of his 
former master. Instead of passing the chaise he stopt it. 

The clergyman, supposing the lawyer to be a robber, 
produced his purse unasked. The lawyer rallied his horse, 
apologized for having frightened the gentleman, and pur^ 
sued his journey. 

The horse next made the same suspicious approach to 
a coach, from the windows of which a blunderbuss was 
levelled, with denunciations of death to the rider. 

In short, after his life hpid been once or twice endan- 
gered by the suspicious conduct of his horse, he was 
obliged to part with him for a triiie, and to procure, at a 
dearer rate, a horse of hetter moral habits. 

Dogs are not less capable than horses of forming good 
or bad habits, according to the dispositions of their masters^ 



on 



Horses and Dop-s. 67 



'<b 



Many extraordinary accounts both of horses and dogs are 
to be" found in the Percy Anecdotes, from which the above 
particulars were selected. 

The Monks of St. Bernard have long had a breed of 
dogs to assist their labors of love, and which are employed 
in ranging the mountains in bad weather, in search of lost 
travellers. 

The most celebrated of these dogs was called Barry. 
This animal served the hospital tv/elve years ; during 
which time he saved the lives of forty individuals. His 
zeal was ii^defatigable. 

When h6 found his strength was insufficient to draw 
from the snotv a traveller benumbed with cold, he would 
run back to thebospital in search of the monks. 

After his death, his hide was stuffed and deposited in 
the museum of that town. The phial in which he carried 
a reviving liquor for the distressed travellers whom he 
found among the mountains, is still suspended from his 
neck. 

A shepherd, who was hanged for sheep-stealing about 
40 years ago, used to commit his depredations, by means 
of his dog. When he intended to steal any sheep, he 
detached the dog to perform it. 

Under pretence of looking at the sheep with an intention 
to purchase, he went through the flock with his dog, to 
whom he secretly gave a signal, to let him know the 
particular sheep he wanted — perhaps to the number often 
or twelve, out of a flock of some hundreds. 

He then went away, and from a distance of several 
miles sent the dog back in the night, who picked out the 
sheep, separated them from the flock, and drove them 
before him, ten or twelve miles, till he came up with his 
master, to whom he delivered up his charge. 

An account is given by the Percy's, of another dog, who 
was so educated that h« became an " accomplished shop- 
liftery^^ and would steal for his master from a shop or 
store such articles as were pointed out to him, with all the 
marks of shrewdness and cunning to eftect his purpose 
unperceived. 



68 Effects and influence of War. 

Distinguished much by reason and still more 
By our capacity of grace divine 
From creatures, that exist but for our sake. 
Which, having served us, perish, we are held 
Accountable ; and God some future day 
Will reckon with us roundly for th' abuse. 
Of what he deems no mean or trivial trust. 
Superior as we are, they yet depend 
Not more on human help than we on theirs. 
Their strength, or speed, or vigilance, were given 
In aid of our defects. In some are found 
Such teachable and apprehensive parts. 
That man's attainments in his own concerns 
Match'd with the expertness of the brutes in tlieirs.. 
Are ofttimes vanquished and thrown far behind. 
Some show that nice sagacity of smell. 
And read with such discernment, in the port 
And figure of the man, his secret aim. 
That oft we owe our safety to a skill 
We could not teach, and must despair to learn. 
But learn we might, if not too proud to stoop 
To quadrupe4 instructers, many a good 
And useful quality, and virtue too. 
Rarely exemplified among ourselves. 
Attachment never to be wean'd, or changed 
By any change of fortune ; proof alike 
Against unkindness, absence and neglect ; 
Fidelity, that neither bribe nor threat 
Can move or warp ; and gratitude for small 
And trivial favors, lasting as the life. 
And glistening even in the dying eye. ^ 

Cowper. 



JVo. 31. Effects and influence of War. 

Repair, my friends, in thought, to a field of recent 
battle. Here are heaps of slain, weltering in their own 
blood, their bodies mangled, their -iimbs shattered and in 



Effects and influence of War, 60 

many a form and countenance not a vestige left of their 
formerselves. Here are multitudes trodden under foot, 
and the war-horse has left the trace of his hoof in many a 
crushed and mutilated frame. 

Here are severer sufferers; they live, but live without 
hope or consolation. Justice despatches the criminal with 
a single stroke ; but the victims of war, falling by casual, 
undirected blows, often expire in lingering agony, their 
deep groans applying in vain to compassion, their limbs 
writhing with pain on the earth, their lips parched with a 
burning thirst, their wounds open to the chilling air, the 
memory of tender relatives rushing on their minds, but 
not an accent of friendship or comfort reaching their ears. 

Amidst this scene of horrors, you see the bird and beast 
of prey drinking the blood of the dead, and with a merci- 
ful cruelty ending the struggles of the dying : and, still 
more melancholy ! you see human plunderers, bereft of all 
human sympathy, turning a deaf ear on the wounded, and 
rifling the warm, and almost palpitating remains of the 
slain. 

If you extend your eye beyond the immediate field of 
battle, and follow the track of the pursuing and victorious 
army, you see the roads strewed with the dead ; you see 
scattered flocks, and harvests trampled under foot, the 
smoking ruins of cottages, and the miserable inhabitants 
flying in want and despair ; — and even yet, the horrors of 
a single battle are not exhausted. 

Some of the deepest pangs, which it inflicts, are silent, 
retired, enduring, to be read in the countenance of the 
widow, in the unprotected orphan, in the aged parent, in 
aifection cherishing the memory of the slain, and weeping 
that it could not minister to their last pangs. 

I have asked you to traverse, in thought, a field of battle. 
There is another scene often presented in war, perhaps 
more terrible — I refer to a besieged city. The most hor- 
rible pages in history are those, which record the reduc- 
tion of strongly fortified places. In a besieged city, are 
collected all descriptions and ages of mankind, women, 
children, the old, the infirm. 

Day and night the weapons of death and conflagration 
fly around them. They see the approaches of the foe, the 



70 Effects and influence oj War. 

trembling bulwark, and the fainting strength of their 
defenders. Thej are worn with famine, and on famine 
presses pestilence. At length the assault is made, every 
barrier is broken down, and a lawless soldiery, exasper- 
ated by resistance, and burning with lust and cruelty, are 
scattered through the streets The domestic retreat, and 
even the house of God, is no longer a sanctuary. 

Venerable age is no protection ; female purity no de- 
fence. In presence of the dying husband, and the 
murdered child, the wife is spared, not from mercy, but to 
gratify the basest passion. These are heart-rending 
scenes, but history abounds with them; and what better 
fruits can you expect from war ? 

These views are the most obvious and striking which 
war presents, and therefore I have given them the first 
place. But the horrors of war are not yet exhausted. 
There are more secret influences, which, while they appeal 
less powerfully to the senses and imagination, will deeply 
affect a reflecting and benevolent mind. 

Consider, first, the condition of those who are imme- 
diately engaged in war. The sufferings of soldiers from 
battle we nave seen ; but their sufferings are not limited 
to the period of conflict. The whole of war is a succes- 
sion of exposures too severe for human nature. Death 
employs other weapons than the sword. 

It is computed, that in ordinary wars, greater numbers 
perish by sickness than in battle. Exhausted by long and 
rapid marches, by unwholesome food, by exposure to 
storms, by excessive labour under a burning sky through 
the day, and by interrupted and restless sleep on the 
damp ground and under the chilling atmosphere of night, 
thousands after thousands of the young pine away and 
die. 

They anticipated that they should fall, if to fall should 
be^their lot, in what they called the field of lionour ; but 
they perish in the inglorious and crowded hospital, sur- 
rounded with sights and sounds of wo, far from home and 
every friend, and denied those tender offices which sick- 
ness and expiring nature require. 

But do not stop here. Consider the influence of war 
on the character of these unhappy men. Their trade is 



Effects and influence of Jf'ar. "^1 

butchery — their business destruction. They hire them- 
selves for slaughter, place themselves servile instruments, 
passive machines, in the hands of unprincipled rulers, to 
execute the bloodiest mandates, without reflection, with- 
out mercy, without a thought on the justice of the cause 
in which they are engaged. What a school is this for the 
human character ! 

From men trained in battle to ferocity and carnage, 
accustomed to the perpetration of cruel deeds, accustomed 
to take human life without sorrow or remorse, habituated 
to esteem an unthinking courage a substitute for every 
virtue, encouraged by plunder to prodigality, taught im- 
providence by perpetual hazard and exposure, restrained 
only by an iron discipline which is withdrawn in peace, 
and unfitted by the restless and irregular career of war for 
the calm and uniform pursuits of ordinary life ; from such 
men, what can be expected but hardness of heart, profli- 
gacy of life, contempt of the restraints of society, and of 
the authority of God ? 

From the nature of his calling, the soldier is almost 
driven to &port with the thought of death, to defy and 
deride it, and of course, to banish the thought of that 
judgment to which it leads ; and though of all men the 
most exposed to sudden death, he is too often of all men, 
most unprepared to appear before the bar of God. 

The influence of war on the community at large, on its 
prosperity, its morals, and its political institutions, though 
less striking than on the soldiery, is yet most baleful.— 
How often is a community impoverished to sustain a war 
in which it has no interest. Publick burdens are aggra- 
vated, whilst the means of sustaining them are reduced. 

Internal improvements are neglected. The revenue of 
the state is exhausted in military establishments, or flows 
through secret channels into the coff*ers of corrupt men, 
whom war exalts to power and office. The regular em- 
ployments of peace are disturbed. 

Industry in many of its branches is suspended. The 
labourer, ground with want, and driven to despair by the 
clamour of his suffering family, becomes a soldier in a 
cause which he condemns, and thus the country is drained 
of its most effective population. The people are stripped 



72 Effects and influence of War. 

and reduced, whilst the authors of war retrench not ^ 
comfort, and often fatten on the spoils and woes of their 

country. i r - ^ ■ i•^^ 

But the influence of war on the morals ot society is still 
more fatal. The suspension of industry and the pressure 
of want multiply vice. Criminal modes of subsistence are 
the resource of the suffering. Publick and private credit 
are shaken. Distrust and fear take place of mutual con- 
fidence. Commerce becomes a system of stratagem and 
collusion; and the principles of justice receive a shock 
which many years of peace are not able to repair. 

Dr, Channing. 



THE warrior's WREATH. 

Behold the wreath which decks the warrior's brow. 
Breathes it a balmy fragrance sweet ? ah, no ! 

It rankly savours of the grave ! 
'Tis red — but not with roseate hues ; 

'Tis crimson'd o*er 

With human gore ! 
'Tis wet — but not with heavenly dews ; 

'Tis drench'd in tears by widows, orphans shed. 
Methinks in sable weeds 1 see them clad. 

And mourn in vain, for husbands slain, 
Children belov'd, or brothers dear. 

The fatherless 

In deep distress^ 
Despairing, shed the scalding tear. 

I hear, 'mid dying groans, the cannon's crash, 
I see 'mid smoke the musket's horrid flash — 

Here famine walks — there <iarnage stalks — 
Hell in her fiery eye, she stains 

With purple blood, 

The crystal flood. 
Heaven's altars and the verdant plains ! 



Motion of Plants. 73 

Scenes of domestic peace antl social bliss 

Are chang'd to scenes of woe and wretchedness. 

The votaries of vice increase — ■ 
Towns sack'd, whole cities wrapt in flame ! 

Just heaven ! say. 

Is this the bayy 
Which warriors gain ; is this call'd FAME ! 

Folemantios. 



JVo. 33. Motion of Plants. 

The sensitive plant possesses the faculty of motion in 
an eminent degree. The slightest touch makes its leaves 
suddenly shrink, and, together with its branch, bend down 
towards the earti). 

Eut the moving plant furnishes the most astonishing 
example of vegetable motion. Its motions are not excited 
by the contact of external bodies, but solely by the influ- 
ence of the sun's rays. When the sun shines, the leaves 
move briskly in every direction. Their general motion, 
however, is upward and downward. But they not unfre- 
quently turn almost round ; and then their foot-stalks are 
evidently twisted. 

These motions go on incessantly as long as the sun 
shines ; but they cease during the night and when the 
weather is cold and cloudy. Our wonder is excited by 
the rapidity and constancy of the movements peculiar to 
this plant. It is a native of the East Jndies. 

The American plant, called Venus^ Fly-trap, affords 
another instance of rapid vegetable motion. Its leaves are 
jointed and furnished with two rows of strong prickles. 
Their surfaces are covered with a number of minute 
glands which secrete a sweet liquor, and allure the flies. 

When these parts are touched by the legs of a flv, the 
two lobes of the leaf instantly rise up, the rov/s of prickles 
lock themselves fast together, and squeeze the unwary 
animal to death. If a straw or a pin be introduced between 
the lobes, the same motions are excited. 



74 Varieties of the Human Race. 

Many leaves, as those of the mallows, follow the course 
of the sun. In the morning their superior surfaces are 
presented to the east ; at noon they regard the south ; 
and when the sun sets they are directed to the west. 

What is called the Sleep of Plants, affords an instance 
of another species of vegetable motion. The leaves of 
many plants fold up during the night ; but at the approach 
of the sun they expand with renewed vigor 

The modes of folding in the leaves, or of sleeping, are 
extremely various. But it is worthy of remark, that they 
all dispose themselves so as to give the best protection to 
the young stems, flowers, buds, or fruits. 

Smellie* 



Thy wisdom, power, and gaodness, Lord, 

In all thy Works appear ; 
But most thy praise should man record, 

Man, thy distinguish'd care. 

All bounteous Lord ! thy grace impart ; 

O teach us to improve 
Thy gifts with ever grateful heart, 

And crown them with thy love. 

Mrs. Steele. 



JV*(9. 33. Varieties of the Human Kace. 

Among the lower races of creatures the changes are so 
great as often to disguise the natural animal and to distort 
and disfigure its shape. But the chief differences in man 
are rather taken from the tincture of his skin than the 
variety of his figure; and in all climates he preserves his 
erect deportment. 

The first distinct race of men is found round the polar 
regions. The Laplanders, the Esquimaux Indians, the 
Samoeid Tartars, the inhabitants of Nova Zembla, the 
Borandiaiis, the Greenlanders, and the natives of Kam- 
skatka, may be considered as one peculiar race of people. 



J^arieties of the Hvrnan Race. 7$ 

all greatly resembling each other, in their stature, their 
complexion, their customs, and their ignorance. 

Tne visage in these countries is large and broad, the 
e3^es of a yellowish brown, inclining to blackness, the 
cheek bones high, the mouth large, the lips thick, the voice 
squeaking, the head large, the hair black. In stature, 
generally not above four feet high, and the tallest not 
above five. 

The wretched natives of these climates seem fitted by 
nature for their situation. As their food is scanty and 
precarious, their patience in hunger is amazing. A man 
who has eat nothing for four days, can manage his little 
canoe in the most furious waves, and calmly subsist in the 
midst of a tempest, that would quickly dash a European 
boat to pieces. 

Their strength is not less amazing than their patience ; 
a woman among them will carry a piece of timber or a 
stone, near double the weight of what a European can lift. 
Their bodies are of a dark gray ail over ; and their faces 
brown or olive. 

The second great variety in the human species is that 
of the Tartar race ; from whence probably the little men 
we have been describing originally proceeded. All these 
nations have the upper part of the visage very broad, and 
wrinkled even while in youth. Their noses are short and 
flat, their eyes little and sunk in their heads ; their cheek 
bones high, their teeth of an enormous size, their face 
broad and fiat, the complexion olive coloured, and the 
hair black. 

To this race of men we must refer the Chinese and the 
Japanese, however different they seem in their manners 
and ceremonies It is the form of the body that we are 
now considering; and there is between these countries a 
surprizing resemblance. 

The third variety in the human species, is that of the 
Southern Asiatics; the form of whose features may be 
easily distinguished from those of the Tartar races. 
They are in general of a slender shape, with lona;, straight, 
black hair, and often Roman noses. The Indians are cf 
an olive colour, and in the more southern parts quite bUick, 
although the word Mog-ul, in their language, signifies a 
white man. 



S^ Varieties of the Human Race. 

Over all India the children arrive sooner at maturitf 
than among us of Europe. They often marrj, the husband 
at ten years old, and the wife at eight ; and thej frequently 
have cluldren at that age. However, the wonsen who are 
mothers so soon, at thirty appear wrinkled, and marked 
with all the deformities of old age. 

The fourth variety is to be found among the negroes of 
Africa. The negroes in general are of a black colour, 
with a smooth and soft skin. The hair of their heads 
woolly and, short, their eyes generally of a deep hazie ; 
their noses Hat and short ; their lips thick and tumid, and 
their teeth of an ivory whiteness. 

The inhabitants of America make a fifth race, as dif- 
ferent from ail the rest in colour as they are distinct 
in habitations. The natives of America are of a red or 
copper colour, except in the northern extremity, where 
they resemble the Laplanders. They have in general flat 
noses, with high check bones and small eyes ; and these 
deforoiities of nature they endeavour to increase by art. 
The sixth and last variety of the human species is that 
of the Europeans, and the nations bordering on them. 
The inhabitants of these countries ditter from each other; 
but they generally agree in the colour of their bodies, the 
beauty of their complexion, the largeness of their limbs, 
and the vigor of their understandings. 

Goldsmith. 
Form'd with the same capacity of pain. 
The same desire of pleasure and of ease, 
Why feels not man for man ! 
But may the kind contagion widely spread. 
Till in its flame the unrelenting heart 
Of avarice melt in softest sympathy — ^ 
And one bright blaze of universal love 
In grateful incense rises up to heaven ! 

Moscoe. 



Rights and duties of Rulers. 77 

JVo. 34^. Rights and duties of Rnlers. 

We are brothers of the same family, and he only who 
gave life, has a right to take it away. Rulers are, indeed, 
accountable to their Creator; they are his ministers, and 
their business is to interpose their authority to arrest the 
angry passions ; curb the resentments that would kindle 
into a flame ; and suppress the uplifted hand that aims 
the deadly blow. 

If through forgetfulness of their duty; through inatten- 
tion to their trust; if pride elevates them above their 
station ; if covetousness leads them to barter the lives of 
their subjects; if ambition prompts them to enlarge their 
dominions, to enrich their treasury, to try the prowess 
of their arms ; how deep must be their guilt ; how awful 
their condemnation ; what an accumulated weight of 
misery do they draw down upon society and plunge them- 
selves into the gulf of eteinal perdition ! 

There is no statute of indulgences in our religion for 
rulers; nor any chapter of dispensations for subjects. 
Their duty is plainly marked out before them ; the. former 
are to rule in the fear of God ; the latter are to obey for 
conscience' sake. But it will perhaps be suggested, that 
national or individual forbearance beyond th^ strict 
measure of justice* is calculated to invite aggression and 
wrong; that national honour is inconsistent with that 
forbearance which can supplicate at the throne of an 
inferior. 

This view of the subject might have some force to 
nations or individuals, living beyond the reach of civil- 
ized life, without a ray of evangelical knowledge to direct 
their views, or a spark of divine grace to warm and better 
the heart. The perverse temper of man in that state of 
forfeiture which sin has produced, is still susceptible of all 
that malignity which marks the savage tribe, and arms the 
angry passions with malice and revenge. But what dis- 
honour and indignity do individuals, or nations, living 
under the light of the gospel, cast upon their holy profes- 
sion, when realizing all the advantages of civilized life, 
and all the excitements of divine wisdom! 

They coolly descend from their exalted station, and med- 

7* 



78 The Lord and the Judge, 

itate on revenge and death. How do they forfeit their 
character as Christians, and cast a suspicion on the attri- 
butes of that gospel which they profess to revere ; how 
do they dishonour the dignity of that nature which boasts 
of superior attainments, and drop a shade over the refine- 
ments of civilized life \ Sev. S, Blakslee, 



THE LORD AND THE JUDGE. 

The God of gods stood up — stood up to try 

The assembled gods of earth. " How long," he said» 

" How long will ye protect impiety. 

And let the vile one raise his daring head ? 

'Tis yours my laws to justify — redress 
All wrong, however high the wronger be ; 
Kor leave the widow and the fatherless 
To the cold world's uncertain sympathy. 

'Tis yours to guard the steps of innocence, 
To shield the naked head of misery ; 
Be 'gainst the strong, the helpless one's defence. 
And the poor prisoner from his chains to free." 

They hear not — see not — know not — for their eyes 
Are covered with thick mists — they will not see ; 
The sick earth groans with man's iniquities. 
And heaven is tired with man's perversity. 

Gods of the earth I ye kings ! who answer not 
To man for your misdeeds, and vainly think 
There's none to judge you :— know, like ours, your lot 
Is pain and death : — ye stand on judgment's brink. 

And ye like fading autumn-leaves will fall ; 
Your throne but dust — your empire but a grave— ^ 
Your martial pomp a black funereal pall — 
Your palace trampled by your meanest slave. 

God of the righteous ! o our God ! arise, 
O hear the prayer thy lowly servants bring : 
Judge, punish, scatter, Lord ! thy enemies. 
And be alone earth's universal king. 

I^omonosov-. 



Pride not made for Man. 79 

JVo. 35, Pride not made for Man. 

If there be any thing which makes human nature appear 
ridiculous to beings of superior faculties^ it must be pride. 
Thej know so well the variety of those imaginary perfec- 
tions that swell the heart of man, and of those little super- 
numerary advantages, whether in birth, fortune, or title, 
which one man enjoys above another, that it must certainly 
•very much astonish, if it does not very much divert them, 
when they see a mortal puffed up, and valuing himself 
above his neighbours on any of these accounts, at the same 
time that he is liable to all the common calamities of the 
species. 

To set this thought in its true light, we will fancy, if 
you please, that yonder mole-hill is inhabited by reason- 
able creatures, and that every pismire (his shape and way 
of life only excepted) is endowed with human passions. 
How should we smile to hear one give us an account of 
the prejudices, distinctions and titles that reign among 
them ? . 

Observe how the whole swarm divide and make way for 
the pismire that passes through them ! You must under- 
stand he is an emmet of quality, and has better blood in 
his veins than any pismire in the mole-hill. Do not you 
see how sensible he is of it, how slow he marches forward, 
how the whole rabble of ants keep their distance ? Here 
you may observe one placed upon a little eminence, and 
looking down on a long row of labourers. 

He is the richest insect on this side the hillock ; he has 
a walk of half a yard in length, and a quarter of an inch 
in breadth ; he keeps a hundred menial servants, and has 
at least fifteen barley-corns in his granary. He is now 
chiding and beslaving the emmet that stands before him, 
and who, for all what we can discover, is as good an emmet 
as himself. 

But here comes an insect of figure ! Do not you take 
notice of a little white straw that he carries in his mouth ? 
That straw, you must understand, he would not part with 
for the longest tract about the mole hill ; did you but 
know what he has undergone to purchase it ! See how 
the auts of all qualities and conditions swarm about' him ! 



80 Pride not made for Alan, 

Should this straw drop out of his mouth, you would see all 
the numerous circle of attendants follow the next that 
took it up, and leave the discarded insect, or run over his 
back to come at liis successor. 

If now you have a mind to see all the ladies of the 
mole-hill, observe first the pismire that listens to the em- 
met on her left hand, at the same time that she seems to 
turn away her head from him. He tells this poor insect 
that she is a goddess, that her eyes are brighter than the 
sun, that life and death are at her disposal. She believes 
him, and gives herself a thousand little airs upon it. 

Mark the vanity of the pismire on your left hand. She 
can scarce crawl with age ; but you must know she values 
herself upon her birth ; and if you mind, spurns at every 
one that comes witliin her reach The little nimble 
coquette that is running along by the side of her is a wit. 
She has broken many a pismire's heart Do but observe 
what a drove of lovers are running after her. 

We will here finish this imaginary scene ; but first of 
all, to draw the parallel closer, will suppose, if you please, 
that death comes down upon the mole-hill in the shape of 
a sparrow, who picks up, without distinction, the pismire 
of quality and his flatterers, the pismire of substance and 
day -laborers, the white-straw officer and his sycophants, 
with all the goddessevS, wits, and beauties of the mole-hill. 

May we not imagine that beings of superior natures and 
perfections, regard all the instances of pride and vanity 
among our species, in the same kind of view, when they 
take a survey of those who inhabit the earth ; or in the 
language of an ingenious French poet ; of those pismires 
that people this heap of dirt, which human vanity has 
divided into climates and regions. 

Addison* 



Man praises man. Desert in arts or arms 
Wilis public honour, and ten thousand sit 
Patiently present at a sacred song. 
Commemoration mad ; content to hear 
Messiah's eulogy for Handel's sake. 

Man praises man. The rabble all alive 

From tippling benches, cellars, stalls, and styes, 



Remarks on Fainotism, Bl 

Swarm in tlie streets. The statesman of the day, 
A pompous and slow-moving pageant, comes. 
Some shout hirr^ and some hang upon his ear. 
To gaze in's eyes, and bless him. Maidens wave 
Their kerchiefs, and old women weep for joy ; 
While others, not so satisfied, unhorse 
The gilded equipage, and turning loose 
His steeds, usurp a place they well deserve. 
Why ? What has charm'd them? Hath he saved 

the state ? 
No. Doth he purpose its salvation ? No. 

Thus idly do we waste the breath of praise. 
And dedicate a tribute, in its use 
And just direction sacred, to a thing 
Doom'd to the dust, or lodg'd already there. 

Cowpen, 



JVb. 38. Remarks on Patriotism. 

We have all, from our youth up, heard the " love of 
country" extolled as among the chief virtues. Poets and 
historians have lifted to the skies the fame of those, whose 
sufferings or achievements have been thought to prove, that 
their " love of country" was stronger than that of life. 
When we read the lives of heroes and statesmen, we find 
them praised for acts, done for the supposed advantage of 
their country, which justice and humanity condemn. 

The Byzantine, tried at Sparta on a charge of treason, 
defended himself by alleging the example of " the worthi- 
est men among the Lacedemonians, who had no other rule 
of justice and honour, but by all possible means to serve 
their country." So strong, indeed, and overruling was 
this principle, that the obligations of benevolence and 
justice were supposed not to extend beyond the limits of 
one's country, or at most, only to those who were united^ 
to it by some especial compacts To be a stranger was to 
be an enemy. 

Some heathen philosophers and moralists, it is true, 
inculcated a better lesson. But history will attest ho^y 



82 Remarks on Patriotism, 

little was the influence of their instructions, when it has 
recorded, as a wonderful instance of justice in Aristides, 
that he rejected the treacherous proposal of his less scru- 
pulous rival. It was one of the purposes of Christianity 
to teach that enlarged benevolence, which embraces all 
mankind as brethren. 

The "love of country" henceforth assumed a subordi- 
nate place among the virtues. We might, indeed, bear a 
peculiar aSection to our countrymen, to those of our own 
household ; but in its exercise it must be consistent with 
the stronger obligations, which belong to us as members of 
the human family. 

There has been a sacrcdness attached to. the name of 
"country," which has caused men to overlook the injustice 
of actions in their supposed disinterestedness. Patriotism 
has been esteemed a social virtue. That, which would be 
wrong and disgraceful, if done for private good, has been 
thought praiseworthy, when the actor has gone out of him- 
self, and through suffering and danger has achieved some 
public advantage. 

A Christian, whose moral views are enlightened and pure, 
governs his affection to his country by the same rules, 
which restrain him in the gratification of every passion, 
that seeks principally his own benefit or pleasure. He 
loves his country much, but virtue more. 

He desires her prosperity, but desires more fervently, 
that she should ever be found in the path of honour and 
uprightness. Her misfortunes give him pain, but he would 
be more deeply grieved, if her riches or territory were 
increased by rapine or unjust war. 

His wisdom, his talents, his best services are ever at her 
disposal, to promote her welfare, and to secure her peace. 
But to a national enterprize, which his conscience con- 
demns as unjust or oppressive, he will no more lend his 
aid, than he will sully his private reputation by injustice 
or fraud. He loves his country's glory ; but it is a glory 
not consisting in splendid victories, nor in giving the law 
to conquered provinces. 

It is that true and only glory, which springs from moral 
and intellectual worth. He is the same in neglect and 
obscurity, as in the brightest sunshine of popular favour. 



Remarks on Patriotism. 83 

Nay ! he hesitates not to do good to his country, though 
he foresee from his countrymen, misled by passion or 
prejudice, no reward but suspicion, no distinction but the 
miserable one of being hated, accursed, persecuted. 

But the patriotism, which the world applauds is far 
different from that, which I have now endeavoured to 
describe. It is loud and boasting, arrogant, obtrusive, 
bold. It allows neither justice, humanity, nor truth, to 
stand in competition with the interests of our country. 
Is a neighbouring territory wanted for the convenience of 
our trade, or the security of our frontier, the fashionable 
language is, that it must be ours. It must be obtained by 
force, if it cannot be by treaty. 

And men, who would be shocked if they heard such an 
intention imputed to their friend, whose field might be 
conveniently enlarged by a small addition from a neigh- 
bour's grounds, seem not to be aware that they suppose 
any thing dishonourable of their country, when they 
express such anticipations* 

If the fleets and armies of our country are successful, 
such patriotism requires of us to rejoice, whether her cause 
be right or wrong. Nay, more, we must be ready to raise 
our arm and aid in the slaughter of her enemies, though it 
be manifest, that those enemies only use the right of self- 
defence in resisting unjust oppression. 

And need I speak of the gross exaggerations, conceal- 
ments, misstatements and falsehoods of every sort, which 
are used, not only v/ith impunity, but with approbation, to 
hide the defeats or to swell the victories of a nation? 
Strange, that the honour, which is so quick to resent, even 
to blood, the accusation of a falsehood, should be so dead 
and palsied to the shame of the crime itself! 

It has not been my intention to apply these remarks to 
any circumstances of our own history, or to speak of these 
errors as peculiar to this country. Perhaps they exist no 
where in a less degree. It will not be denied, that false 
ideas of patriotism, and a false national pride, have had 
great effect in producing and prolonging wars. 

How important then is it, to instil into the minds of 
youth, sentiments better agreeing with Christian charity ! 
How important, that while they are made to glow with 



84 Remarks on Patriotism, 

patriotic fervour ; while their imaginations are Wfirmed by 
the applauses bestowed by poets and historians on deeds 
of valour, they should be taught to love and admire the 
peaceful virtues of the Christian ! 

Gallison. 

EXTRACT FROM PARADISE REGAINED. 

They praise and they admire they know not what. 
And know not whom, but as one leads the oth^r; 
And what delight to be by such extoll'd, 
To live upon their tongues and be their talk, 
Of whom to be dispraised is no small praise? 
His lot who dares be singularly good, 
Th' intelligent among them and the wise 
Are few, and glory scarce of few is raised. 
This is true glory and renown, when God 
Looking on th' earth, with approbation marks 
The just man, and divulges him through heaven 
To all his angels, who with true applause 
Recount his praises. 

They err who count it glorious, to subdue 
By conquest far and wide, to overrun 
Large countries, and in field great battles win. 
Great cities by assault ; what do these worthies 
But rob and spoil, burn, slaughter and enslave 
Peaceable nations, neighbouring or remote. 
Made captive, yet deserving freedom more 
Than those their conquerors, who leave behind 
Nothing but ruin wheresoe'er they rove. 
And all their flourishing works of peace destroy. 
Then swell with pride, and must be titled Gods, 
Great Benefactors of mankind. Deliverers, 
Worshipt with temple, priest and sacrifice ! 
One is the son of Jove, of Mars the other ; 
Till conqueror Death discovers them scarce men, 
"Rolling in brutish vices, and <leformed. 
Violent or shameful death their due reward. 

Milton* 



The Elephant. ^ 86 

JV^o 37. The Elephant. 

The Elephant is well known as the largest and strong- 
est of quadrupeds. The height of a full grown one is 
from nine to fifteen feet; and the body has been found to 
weigh four thousand and five hundred pounds. 

The trunk is a remarkable organ, peculiar to the ele- 
phant. It is a cartilaginous substance, composed of 
numerous rin^s, terminating in a small moveable kind of 
hook ; and having the nostrils in its extremity. This 
proboscis the animal can contract, dilate and bend in any 
direction. The sense of feeling is centered in this 
organ ; and is as delicate and distinct as in the human 
species. 

His tusks, also, distinguish the elephant in a singular 
manner. Neither jaw is furnished with fore teeth. Each 
has four large flat grinders. But in the upper are two 
enormous tusks, of a solid, white and fine grained sub- 
stance ; whicli, as they proceed froin the gums in which 
they are rooted, first point forwards, and then bend 
slightly upwards. These are often seven feet long, and 
have been found to weigh a hundred and fifty pounds. 

Mankind have, in all ages, been at great pains in taming 
elephants They are caught in the forests by artifice, 
dexterity, strength, and ten*or. They are subdued by 
threats ; and domesticated by kind treatment and caresses ; 
and at last rendered tractable and submissive. Indeed, 
when tame, the elephant is perhaps the most docile, gentle, 
and obedient of all animals. 

He forms an attachment to his keeper; coinprehends 
si^ns ; learns to distinguish the various tones of the human 
voice, as expressive of anger, approbation, or command ; is 
even capable of being taught to understand the import oi 
articulate language; adopts in many instances the man- 
ners and the sentiments of mankind ; discovers a sense of 
probity and honor, and expects to be honestly dealt with-? 
resents every affront with force and dignity ; is generous. 
gratef;d, patient, magnanimous, and humane. 

Fev. Dr. Harris. 



m The Elephant. 

None of the forest kind so vast arise 

When swells the elephant before thine eyes ; 

Of massive strength his bulky head he rears. 

And smooth, and short, and concave are his ears. 

Smaller his eyes than such a bulk demands ; 

Huge in the midst his trunk projecting stands. 

Curved, slender, lithe, as grasp of human hands ; 

This his proboscis named, at will he wields, 

As nature urges, and despoils the fields. 

No like proportion in his feet we find ; 

Before he lifts them higher than behind. 

Rough, dusky, thick, the skin his frame surrounds, 

"Which not hard iron's piercing sharpness wounds, 

Fierce and untam'd amidst the shady wood. 

But mild with men, and of a gentle mood, 

"V\ hen midst the flowery lawns and hills he roves. 

The beeches, olive-trees, and palmy groves. 

Are crash'd beneath him as he sways around 

His tusky cheeks, and roots them from the ground* 

But man's strong hands the furious beast reclaim ; 

Lost is his anger and his heart is tame, 

He bears the yoke, his lips the curb obey. 

Boys stride his back, and point his onward way. 

Oppian — Elton^s translation* 



truly wise ! with gentle mind endowed. 

Though powerful, not destruc ive ! Here he sees 

Revolving ages sweep the changeful earth, 

And empires rise and fall ; regardless he 

Of what the never- resting race of men 

Project ; thrice happy could he 'scape their guile 

W ho mine from cruel avarice his steps ; 

Or with his towery grandeur swell their state — 

The pride of kings ! or else his strength pervert, 

And bid him rage amid the moi tal fray, 

Astonish'd at the madness of mankind. 

Tfionisoti' 



Hippopotamus, 81 

JVo. 38. The Hippopotamus. 

The Hippopotamus is nearly as large as the rhinoceros. 
The male has been found seventeen feet in length, fifteen 
in circumference, and seven in height. The head is 
enormously large, and the jaws extend upwards two feet, 
and are armed with four cutting-teeth, each of which is 
twelve inches in length. The body is of a lightish colour, 
thinly covered with hair. The legs are three feet long. 
Though amphibious, the hoofs, which are quadrufid, are 
unconnected with membranes The hide is so thick and 
tough as to resist the edge of a sword or sabre 

Unless when accidentally provoked, or wounded, he is 
never offensive ; but when he is assaulted or hurt, his 
fury against the assailants is terrible. He will attack a 
boat, break it in pieces with his teeth ; or, where the river 
is not too deep, he will raise it on his back and overset it. 
If when on shore, he is irritated, he will immediately 
betake himself to the water, and there, in his native ele- 
ment, manifests all his strength and resolution. 

Behold my Bjehemoth his bulk uprear. 

Made by thy Maker, grazing like a steer. 

What strength is seated in each brawny loin I 

What muscles brace his amplitude of groin ! 

Huge like a cedar, see his tail arise ; 

Large nerves their meshes weave about his thighs; 

His ribs are channels of unyielding brass. 

His chine a bar of iron's hardened mass. 

My sovereign work j and other beasts to awe, 

I with a tusky falchion arm'd his jaw. 

In peaceful majesty of might he goes. 

And on the verdant isles his forage mows ; 

Where beasts of every savage name resort, 

And in wild gambols round his greatness sport. 

In moory creeks beside the reedy pools 

Deep plung'd in ooze his glowing flanks he cools. 

Or near the banks enjoys a deeper shade 

Where lotes and willows tremble o'er his head. 



88 Encouragement to use means 

No swelling river can his heart dismay. 
He stalks secure along the watery way ; 
Or should it heap its swiftly eddjiiig waves 
Against his mouth, the foaming flood he braves. 
Go now, thy courage on this creature try, 
Dare the bold duel, meet his open eye ; 
In vain ! nor can thy strongest net confine, 
A strength which yields to no device of thine. 

Scott. 



JV*o. 39. Eocoiiragement to use means 
for preventing War, 

There is the highest encouragement to use means to 
prevent the practice, of war, for we have a divine promise 
that the time will come when " Nation shall not lift up 
sword against naticn, neither shall they learn war any 
more." — Though this promise is unchangeable and will be 
fulfilled, it does not preclude the necessity of using exer- 
tion to accomplish this purpose. The promise of God 
gives us assurance that our labor will not be in vain. 

The first prescription we would make as a preparatory 
step for the abolition of war is to correct public sentiment 
on this subject. Till this is effected all other measures 
will be of little avail. Public opinion is the law of a 
nation. Though most people have deprecated war as the 
greatest of evils, they appear to have considered it as far 
beyond remedy, as the convulsions in the natural world, 
which are produced by the collision of elements. 

Public sentiment is not invincible. It has been changed, 
and it can be changed again. It is believed that the public 
may be convinced that war is not necessary for the honor, 
interest, and happiness of a nation ; that peace is more 
economical, more safe, better calculated for improvement, 
and for every enjoyment. Let the ambassadors of Christ 
expose the multiplied crimes of war ; and the guilt and 
pernicious consequences of nurturing by blood the fero- 
cious passions. 



for preventing H^ar. 89 

Let them inculcate the necessity of imitating the ex- 
ample of the Prince of Peace ; and the necessity of 
imbibing the pacific spirit of his religion. Let rulers and 
statesmen realize the worth of human life. Let them 
consider that the glory of a nation is not to be esti- 
mated by the blood, which they have shed ; but by the 
improvement they have made in knowledge, in morals, 
and in the art of doing good. 

Let them publicly disapprove an appeal to arms in any 
case, as an unjust, cruel, and hazardous method of adjust- 
ing difficulties between nations. It is from the leading 
characters of a country almost all fashions originate, and 
are supported. Let them introduce the fashion of peace^ 
and support it by example and conversation ; and it will 
soon be sounded through a whole nation. It will be a 
subject for every society, a motto for every discourse. 

Or if a people possess a pacific spirit, let them manifest 
it; and it will counteract the martial spirft of their rulers. 
It will disarm their hands and tend to ameliorate their 
hearts. If the greatest and best characters of a nation 
unite their voices and exertions against the custom of war, 
their sentiment will gradually prevail. Their spirit will 
be diffused among the people ; and soon the prevailing 
sentiment, the prevailing spirit will be for peace. 

Let dishonor be attached to those who declare war; 
and to those, who voluntarily carry it on. If it be the 
general sentiment that those, who are most forward to 
make war are the most unjust, cruel and pernicious part 
of mankind ; that a field of battle is not a field of glory ; 
but an aceldama, a field of blood ; that the most brave and 
skilful in war are not the honor, nor the benefactors of 
their species ; but the destroyers of the best interests of 
nations ; if triumphal arches of victory were covered with 
black, and adorned with emblems of mourning and pre- 
sented a label inscribed MURDER, LAMENTATION, 
and WO, many of the secret springs of war would be 
broken ; the arm of the warrior would be unnerved ; and 
but few would repair to the field, winch yielded nothino- 
but wreaths of Cypress and ensigns of dishonor. 

It will produce good effect and tend to accomplish our 
present purpose to teach our children and youtli the ben- 
8* 



90 Encouragement to use mean^ ^d^ 

efits of peace ; and instil into their tender minds the 
principle of benevolence towards their species. When we 
discover anger and revenge breaking out into quarrels 
with their companions, we ought not only to prevent the 
combat, but we ought to teach them the criminality, the 
pernicious consequences, the disgrace of contention. 

If w^e refer them to the ferocious temper and practice of 
brutes ; to the wrangling of the very dregs of society ; 
if y^e teach them the pacific principles of the Gospel, and 
accompany our instructions by the disposition we incul- 
cate, they will probably contract an aversion to conten- 
tion, attach disgrace to quarrels, and carry up with them to 
mature age the impressions and sentiments which they 
received in childhood 

When they arrive at maturity, and take a general view 
of the relationship of communities and of nations, they will 
apply, upon a general scale, those principles, by which 
tney had early practised in their little spheres. If we 
do not succeed with those, who are accustomed to war, 
by exciting their aversion and opposition to it, there is 
still hope of success with the rising generation. 

If we cannot move the stubborn oak, which has braved^ 
many a tempest, we can bend, at our pleasure, the pliant 
shoot rising by its side. Here let us ply our exertions ; 
and the rising generation will probably do more for the 
peace of the world than all their fathers have done ; and 
they will look back with astonishment that a spirit of war 
had lived so long. Mev. H. Moored 

Avaunt, from Albion's isle, nor there 
Thy arms and madd'ning car prepare. 
Nor bid thy crimson banners fly. 
Terrific through the troubled sky ; 
But stay thee in thy wild career ; 
Lay by thy glittering shield and spear. 
Thy polish'd casque, and nodding crest. 
And let thy sable steeds have rest ; 
At length the work of slaughter close. 
And give to Europe's sons repose. 
Bid the hoarse clangors of the trumpet cease. 
And smooth thy wrinkled front to meet the smiles 
of Peace. Herald of Peace. 



Reflections on Fireworks. 91 

JS'o. 40. Eeflectioiis on Fireworks. 

I AM considering how most of the great phenomena or 
appearances in nature, have been imitated by the art of 
man. Thunder has grown a common drug among chjm- 
ists. Lightning may be bought by the pound. If a man 
has occasion for a lambent flame, you have whole sheets of 
it in a handful of phosphor. Showers of rain are to be met 
with in every waterwork ; and we are informed that 
some years ago the virtuosos of France covered a little 
vault with artificial snow, which they made to fall above 
an hour together for the entertainment of his present 
majesty. 

1 am led into this train of thinking by the noble firework 
that was exhibited last night on the Thames. You might 
there see a little sky filled with innumerable blazing stars 
and meteors. Nothing could be more astonishing than the 
pillars of flame, clouds of smoke, and multitudes of stars 
mingled together in such agreeable confusion. Every 
rocket ended in a constellation, and strewed the air with 
such a shower of silver spangles, as opened and enlight- 
ened the whole scene from time to time. 

I seldom see any thing that raises wonder in me which 
does not give my thoughts a turn that makes my heart the 
better for it. As I was lying in my bed, and ruminating 
on what I have seen, I could not forbear reflecting on the 
insignificancy of human art, when set in comparison with 
the designs of Providence. In the pursuit of this thought 
I considered a comet, or, in the language of the vulgar, a 
blazing star, as a sky-rocket discharged by a hand that is 
Almighty. 

Many of my readers saw that in the year 1680, and if 
they are not mathematicians, will be amazed to hear that 
it travelled in a much greater degree of swiftness than a 
cannon-ball, and drew after it a tail of fire that was 
fourscore millions of miles in length. What an amazing 
thought it is to consider this stupendous body traversing 
the immensity of the creation with such a rapidity, and at 
the same time wheeling about in that line which the 
Almighty has prescribed for it ! that it should move in 



92 Citizens of Mw England hound 

such inconceivable fury and combustion, and at the same 
time with such an exact regularity. 

How spacious must the universe be that gives such 
bodies as these their full play, without suffering the least 
disorder or confusion ! What a glorious show are those 
beings entertained with, that can look into this great 
theatre of nature, and see myriads of such tremendous 
objects wandering through those immeasurable depths of 
ether, and running their appointed courses! 

Our eyes may hereafter be strong enough to command 
this magnmcent prospect, and our understandings able 
to hnd out the several uses of these great parts of the 
BBiveise. In the mean time they are very proper objects 
lor our imaginations to contemplate, that we may form 
more exalted notions of Infinite Wisdom and Power, and 
learn to think humbly of ourselves, and of all the little 
works or human invention. 

*iddison» 

'Twas God who form'd the rolling spheres. 
And stretch'd the boundless skies; 
Who form 'd the plan of endless years, 
And bade the ages rise. 
From everlasting is his might. 
Immense and unconfined ; 
He pierces through the realms of light. 
And rides upon the wind. 

Liverpool Collection^ 



JVo. 4K Citizens of ^New England bound 
to support liberty and corre'ct abuses. 

We are bound to maintain public liberty, and by the 
example of our own systems, to convince the world, that 
order, aiKi law, religion and morality, the rights of con- 
science the rights of persons and the rights of property, 
may all be preserved and secuied, in the most perfect 
manner by a government entirely and purely elective. 
it we laii in this, our disaster will be signal, and will 



to sujyport liberty and correct abuses. 93 

ftirnish an argument, stronger than has yet been found, 
in support of those opiaioas which maintain that govern- 
ment can rest safely on nothing but power and coercion. 

As far as expvMne'^-ice may show errors in our establish- 
ments, we are bound to correct them ; and if any practi- 
ces exist, contrary to the principles of justice and humanity, 
within the reach of our laws or our influence, we are 
inexcusable if we do not exert ourselves to restrain and 
abolish them. 

I deem it my duty on this occasion to suggest, that the 
land is not yet wholly free from the contamination of a 
traffic, at which every feeling of humanity must forever 
revolt— I mean the African slave trade. Neither public 
sentiment, nor the law, has hitherto been able entirely to 
put an end to this orlious and abominable trade. 

At the moment when God, in his mercy, has blessed 
the Christian world with an universal peace, there is 
reason to fear, that to the disgrace of the Christian name 
and character, new efforts are making for the extension ot 
this trade, by subjects and citizens of Christian states, 
in whose hearts no sentiment of humanity or justice 
inhabits, and over whom neither the fear of God nor the 
fear of man exercises a control. 

In the sight of our law, the x\frican slave trader is a 
pirate and a felon ; and in the sight of heaven an offender 
far beyond the ordinary depth of human guilt. 

There is no brighter part of our history, than that which 
records the measures which have been adopted by the 
government, at an early day, and at different times since, 
for the suppression of this traffic ; and 1 would call on all 
the true sons of New England, to co-operate with the 
laws of man and the justice of heaven. 

If there be, within the extent of our knowledge or influ- 
ence, any participation in this traffic, let us pledge our- 
selves here, upon the rock of Plymouth, to extirpate and 
destroy it It is not fit, that the land of the pilgrims 
should bear the shame longer. 

I hear the sound of the hammer, I see the smoke of the 
furnaces where manacles and fetters are still forged for 
human limbs. I see the visages of those, who, by stealth, 
and at midnig^ht, labour in this work of hell, foul and dark, 



94 Citizens ofJYew England bound ^^c. 

as may become the artificers of such instruments of misery 
and torture. "^ 

Let that spot be purified, or let it cease to be of New 
England. Let it be purified, or let it be set aside from 
the Christian world ; let it be put out of the circle of 
human sympathies and human regards, and let civilized 
man henceforth have no communion v/ith it. 

I would invoke those who fill the seats of justice, and 
all who minister at her altar, that they execute the whole- 
some and necessary severity of the law. I invoke the 
ministers of our religion, that they proclaim its denunci- 
ation of these crimes and add its solemn sanctions to the 
authority of human laws. If the pulpit be silent when- 
ever, or wherever, there may be a sinner bloody with this 
guilt, within the hearing of its voice, the pulpit is false to 
its trust. 

1 call on the fair merchant, who has reaped his harvest 
upon the seas, that he assist in scourging from those seas 
the worst pirates which ever infested them. That ocean, 
which seems to wave with a gentle magnificence to waft 
the burdens of an honest commerce, and to roll along its 
treasures with a conscious pride ; that ocean, which hardy 
industry regards, even w^hen the winds have ruffled its 
surface, as a field of grateful toil ; what is it to the victim 
of this oppression, when he is brought to its shores, and 
looks forth upon it, for the first time, from beneath chains, 
and bleeding with stripes r 

What is it to him, but a wide spread prospect of suffer- 
ing, anguish and death ? Nor do the skies smile longer, 
nor IS the air longer fragrant to him. Then sun is cast 
down from heaven. An inhuman and accursed traffic 
has cut him off in his manhood, or in his youth, from 
every enjoyment belonging to his being, and every bless- 
ing which his Creator intended for him 

The Christian communities send forth their emissaries 
of religion and letters, who stop, here and there, along the 
coast of tlie vast continent of Africa, and, with painful and 
tedious efforts, make some almost imperceptible progress 
in the communication of knowledge, and in the general 
improvement of the natives who are immediately about 
tJiem. 



Charity and the Slave trade. 95 

Not thus slow and imperceptible is the transmission of 
the vices and bad passions which the subjects of Christian 
states carry to the land. The slave trade havi!)g touched 
the coast, its influence and its evils spread, like a pesti- 
lence, over the whole continent, making savage wars more 
savage, and more frequent, and adding new and fierce 
passions to the contests of barbarians. 

I pursue this topic no farther, except again to saj, that 
all Christendom being now blessed with peace, is bound 
by every thing which belongs to its character, and to the 
character of the present age, to put a stop to this inhuman 
and disgraceful traffic. 

Webster. 



CHARITY AND THE SLAVE TRADE. 

Fairest and foremost of the train that wait 
On man's most dignified and happiest state, 
Whether we name it Charity or I^ove, 
Chief grace below and all in all above, 

God ever working on a social plan, 
By various ties attaches man to man : 
He made at fiist, though free and unconfined. 
One man the common Father of the kind ; 
That every tribe though placed as he sees best. 
Where seas or deserts part them from the rest. 
Differing in language, manners, or in face 
Might feel themselves allied to all their race. 

Again — the band of comme-rce was design'd 
To associate all the branches of mankind ; 
And if a boundless plenty be the robe, 
Trade is the golden girdle of the globe. 

Heaven speed the canvass gallantly unfurPd 
To furnish and accommodate a world. 
To give the poles the product of the sun, 
And knit the unsocial climates into one. 

But ah ! what wish can prosper, or what prayer^ 
For merchants rich in cargoes of despair. 



96 Humanity to cajptives improved. 

Who drive a loathsome trafBc, gauge, and span, 

And buy the muscles and the bones oi man. 

The tender ties of father, husband, friend. 

All bonds of nature in that moment er,d ; 

And each endures, while yet he drav s his breath, 

A stroke as fatal as the scythe of deatii. 

Canst thou, and honoui d with a Christian name. 

Buy what is woman born, an$i feel no shame? 

Trade in the blood of inuocenc e, and [dead 

Expedience as a ^warrant for the (\eei\ i 

So may t!)e wolf, whom famine has ihade bold 

To quit the forest and invade the fold : 

So may the ruffian, who with ghostly glide. 

Dagger in hand, steals cio^e to your bedside ; 

Not he, but his emergence, forced t!ie door. 

He found it inconvenient to be poor. 

He from whose hand all power proceeds. 
Ranks its abuse among the foulest deeds. 
Considers all injustice with a frown. 
But marks the man that treads his fellow down. 

Cowper. 



J\'*o 43. Humanity to captives improved. 

In former times, the usages of war permitted captives 
to be killed or enslaved. As civilization has advanced, 
more humanity has been sliown to piisoners of war. in 
the present age, to treat captives wit!> kindness is regarded 
as a point of honor ; and none but barbarians, or officers 
of a savage disposition, will permit prisoners to be either 
murdered or abused. 

It seems to be a common opinicm among military men 
and the advocates for war, that soldiers and subordinate 
officers, are not liable to blame, for any thing done by them 
in conformity to orders from their rulers or generals. This 
opinion is extended alike to both parties in a contest. 

However wanton, unnecessary, or unjust a war may be 
in its origin, or however cruel in its operations, the rulers 
or the commanding generals are regarded as the scape 



Hihmanity to captives improved. 97 

goats, to bear awaj all the iniquities of the contest ; and 
the under officers and soldiers are praised, as having done 
their duty in committing the most atrocious acts of vio- 
lence, injustice, and depredation. 

Accordingly, in the most horrid conflicts, if a party of 
the troops on one side are taken by the other, they are 
treated with kindness, as brave fellows, who had been 
unfortunate in the discharge of their duty. 

We are far from objecting to the niost humane treat- 
ment of captives. We regard them as truly objects of 
compassion, misled by the influence of education, in 
respect to the nature of public war. But, from the facts 
and sentiments before us, some light may be derived, by 
which the principles of humanity may have a more exten- 
sive operation. 

If humanity requires that prisoners should be kindly 
treated, because they are not the authors of the war, why 
should not the principle be so far extendetl, as to exempt 
them from being called on to hazard their lives in battle ? 

If, even after they have fought and done all the injury 
in their power to the people of another country, they are 
still to be regarded as innocent, and entitled to kind treat- 
ment, from the party that may happen to capture ihtni, 
had they not a just claim, before they engaged in the war, 
to be exempted by their own rulers fi'om hazarding their 
lives in a quarrel which they had no hand in producing? 

On what principle of justice can two armies of innocent 
men be called into a field of battle to murder one another? 
On what principle of reason or humanity can th^ir respec- 
tive rulers or generals excite in them tlie spirit of hostility 
or revenge, and then require them to shed each other's blood ? 

We may as reasonably deny the existence of any such 
principle as moral justice, or any such being as a ri<>.iiteous 
Governor of the Universe, as to suppose that armies of 
men can, without guilt, meet in a lieid of battle and butcher 
one another. 

In all such cases tliere must be an enormous amount .of 
guilt some where. If the soldiers and sub(5rdinate officers 
are to be deemed innocent, how avv-ful is the responsibilitT 
of those by whose agency and control these iiinocen!: 
persons engage in the work of mutual violence and 
;d est ruction. 

9 



98 Extracts from Russian poetry. 

JS*o» 43. Extracts from Eussian poetry, 

AUTUMlt, 

The dry leaves are falling ; 
The cold breeze above 
Has stript of its glories 
The sorrowing grove. 

The hills are all weeping. 
The field is a waste. 
The songs of the forest 
Are silent and past : 

And the songsters are vanished ; 
In armies they fly. 
To a clime more benignant, 
A friendlier sky. 

The thick mists are veiling 
The valley in white : 
With the smoke of the village 
They blend in their flight. 

And lo ! on the mountain 
The wanderer stands. 
And sees the pale autumn 
Pervading the lands. 

Thou sorrowful wanderer. 
Sigh not — nor weep ! 
For nature, though shrouded, 
Will wake from her sleep. 

The spring, proudly smiling, 
Shall all things revive ; 
And gay bridal -garments 
Of splendor shall give. 

But man's chilling winter 
Is darksome and dim ; 
For no second spring-tide 
E'er dawns upon him. 



Rules for the guidance of the heart ^-c. 99 

The gloom of his evening. 
Time dissipates never : 
His sun when departed 
Is vanisht for ever. 

lCaramsi7U 



But hark ! mj Karamsin, 
The Savior has risen : 
A pledge and a promise 
To good men are given. 
That they too shall revive- 
To glory ascend — 
Enjoy second spring-tide, 
Which never shall end. 



RULES FOR THE GUIDANCE OP THE HEART AND 
UNDERSTANDING. 

Mark where thou standest first : and whence thou'rt 

come. 
And whither goest, and straight speed thee h©me= 

The woe to come, the woe that's gone. 
Philosophy thinks calmly on : 
But show me the philosopher 
Who calmly bears the woes that are. 

How wise is he who marks the fleeting day 
By acts of virtue as it rolls away ! 

Be all thy views right forward, clear, and even : 
The straightest line the soonest leads to heaven. 

Thou would st count all things proud philosophy. 
Now measure space and weigh eternity ! 

First purify thy heart : then light thy mind \ 
With wisdom's lamp, and thou pure bliss shalt find. 



100 The Golden Fulact. 

Virtue, though loveliest of all lovelj things, , 

From modesty apart no more is iair ; 
And when her graceful veil aside she flings, 
(Like ether opened to th' intrusive air) 
Loses her sweetest charms and stands a cypher there. 

Bobroi>, 



Not the first tribute of our lyre. 
Not the first fruits of infant spring. 
But flames from love's long kindled fire. 
And oft-;"epeated prayers we tw^ing 

To crown thy natal day. 

'Tis not to-day that first we tell 

(When was affection's spirit mute ?) 

How long our hearts have loved — how well — 

Nor tune our soft and votive flute. 

Nor light the altar's ray» 

That altar is our household shrine — 
Its flame — the bosom's kindly heat : 
Its offering, sympathy divine ; 
Its incense, as the may-dew sweet ! 

Accept thy children's lay. 

Bohrov, 



THE GOLDEN PALACE. 

The golden palace of my God 
Tow'ring above the clouds I see ; 
Beyond the cherubs' bright abode. 
Higher than angels' thoughts can be : 
How can I in those courts appear 
Without a wedding garment on ? 
Conduct me. Thou life-giver, there. 
Conduct me to Thy glorious throne ! 
And clothe me with Thy robes of light. 
And lead me through sin's darksome night. 
My Saviour and my God ! 

Bohrov 



A volcano rising from the bottom of the ocean. 101 

MIDNIGHT HYMN. 

Why hast thou forsaken me? 

Why, thou never-setting light. 
Is Thj brightness veiled from me ? 
Whj does this unusual night 
Cloud Thj blest benignity ? 
I am lost without Thj ray, 
Guide my wandering footsteps, Lord ! 
Light jny dark and erring way 
To the noon-tide of Thy word ! 

Bobrov, 



JS'o, 44. A volcano rising from the bottom 
of the ocean. 

Many instances have occurred of islands having been 
formed in the midst of the sea. Their sudden appearance 
has been preceded by violent agitations of the surrounding 
waters, accompanied by dreadful noises, and sometimes by 
fiery eruptions from the newly formed isles. 

On the 22 of May, 1707, a severe earthquake was felt at 
Stanchio, an island of the Archij)elago. On the ensuing 
morning a party of seamen, discovering, not far off, what 
they believed to be a wreck, rowed towards it. 

But finding rocks and earth instead of the remains of a 
ship, hastened back, and spread the news of wliat they had 
seen in Santorini, another of these islands. However great 
the apprehensions of the inhabitants were at the fij-st sight, 
in a few days some of them ventured to laud on the new 
island. 

Their curiosity led them from rock to rock where they 
found a kind of white stone, which yielded to the knife 
like bread. They also found many oysters sticking to the 
rocks; but Vv^hile they were collecting tliem, the island 
moved and shook — on which they ran to tlieir boats. 
Amid these motions the island increased in height, length 
and breadth. 



102 A volcano rising J^om the bottom of the ocexin. 

On the 16th of July, smoke first appeared, not indeed 
on the island, but from a ridge of black stones which sud- 
denly rose about 60 paces from it, where the depth of the 
sea was unfathomable. Thus there were two separate 
islands, one called the White, and the other the Black 
island. 

In the night between the 19th and 20th of July, flames 
began to issue with the smoke, to the great terror of the 
inhabitants of Santorini, The burning island increased 
very fast, large rocks daily springing up, which sometimes 
added to its length and sometimes to its breadth. 

On the 31st of July, the sea smoked and bubbled in two 
different places near the island, where the water formed a 
perfect circle, and looked like oil when beginning to 
simmer. 

On the 7th of August, a different noise was heard, 
resembling that of large stones thrown into a deep well. 
This noise was succeeded by another much louder, nearly 
resembling thunder. 

On the 9th of September, the White and Black islands 
united. There were now four openings only which emitted 
flames. These issued forth with great impetuosity, some- 
times attended with a noise like a great organ pipe, and 
sometimes like the howling of v/ild beasts. 

On the 18th of September an earthquake was felt at 
Santorini. it did but little damage, although it consid- 
erably enlarged the burning island, and in several places 
gave, vent to the fire and smoke. 

On the 21st a dreadful clap of subterraneous thunder 
was followed by very powerful lightnings ; and at the 
same instant the new island was so violently shaken, that 
part of the great furnace fell down, and huge burning 
focks were thrown to the distance of two miles and 
upwards. 

On the 16th of February a pretty strong earthquake was 
felt at Santorini, which the ijihabitants considered as a 
prelude to greater commotions in the burning island ; ijor 
Vi^ere they deceived, for soon after the fire and smoke 
issued in prodigious quantities. 

The thunder-like claps were redoubled, and all was 
horror and coufusion ; rocks of amazing size were raised 



Address to God in view of his Works, 103 

up to a great height above the water ; and the sea raged 
and boiled to such a degree as to occasion great conster- 
nation. 

The 15th of April was rendered memorable by the num- 
ber and violence of the bellowings and eruptions — by one 
of which nearly a hundred stones were thrown at the 
same instant into the air, and fell again into the sea at 
about two miles distant. 

On the 15th of July, 1709, the Bishop of Santorini, 
accompanied by several friars, hired a boat to take a near 
view of the island. They made directly toward it on the 
side where the sea did not bubble, but where it smoked 
very much. 

The fires which continued to burn, and the boiling of 
the sea obliged them to make a great circuit. When they 
had proceeded to within the distance of 100 yards, the 
great furnace discharged itself, and the wind blew upon 
them so dense a smoke, and so heavy a shower of ashes, 
that they were obliged to abandon their design. 

On their return to Santorini, they observed that the 
heat of the water had melted the greater part of the pitch 
employed in caulking their boat, which had now become 
leaky. Clarke. 



Beneath the waves, around the sky. 
There's not a p-ace, or deep or high. 
Where the Creator has not trod 
And left the footsteps of a God. 

Watts. 



JVo. 45. Address to God in view of his 
Works. 

O MY God, if the greater number of mankind do not 
discover Thee in that glorious show of nature which Thou 
hast placed before our eyes, it is not because Thou art far 
from any one of us. Thou art present to us more than 
any object which we touch with our hands ; but our senses. 



104 Address to God in view of his Works. 

and the passions tlip^ produce in us, turn our attentiou 
from Thee. 

Thy light shines in the midst of darkness, but the dark- 
ness comprehends it not. Thou, Lord, dost every way 
display Thyself. Tliou shinest in all Thy works, but art 
not regarded by heedless and unthinking man. The whole 
creation talks aloud of Thee, and echoes with the repeti- 
tions of thy holy name. But such is our insensibility, that 
we are deaf to the great and universal voice of nature. 

Thou art every where about us, and within us ; but we 
wander from ourselves, become strangers to our own souls, 
and do not apprehend Thy presence. O Thou who art the 
eternal fountain of light and beauty, the ancient of days, 
without beginning and without end ; O Thou who art the 
life of all that truly live, those can never fail to find Thee 
who seek for Thee within themselves. 

But alas ! the very gifts which Thou bestowest upon us 
do so employ our thoughts, that they hinder us from per- 
ceiving the hand, which conveys them to us. We live by 
Thee, and yet we live without thinking of Thee. But, O 
Lord, wliat is life in the ignorance of Thee ! 

That beauty which Thou hast poured out on Thy crea- 
tion, is a veil which hides Thee from our eyes. As Thou 
art a being too pure and exalted to pass through our senses. 
Thou art not regarded by men, who have debased their 
nature, and have made themselves like the beasts that 
perish. 

So infatuated are they, that notwithstanding they know 
what is wisdom and virtue, which have neither sound, nor 
colour, nor smell, nor taste, nor figure, nor any other 
^sensible quality, they can doubt of Thy existence, because 
thou art not apprehended by the grosser organs of sense. 
Wretches that we are ! we consider shadows as realities, 
and truth as a phantom ! 

That which is nothing is all to us ; and that which is 
all, appears to us nothing. What do we see in all nature 
but Thee, my God ! Thou, and only Thou, appearest 
in every thing. When I consider Thee, O Lord, 1 am 
swallowed up, and lost in contemplation. Every thing 
besides Thee, even my own existence vanishes and disap- 
pears in the contemplation of Thee. 



Address to God in view of his Works. 105 

I am lost to myself, and fall into nothing, when I think 
on Thee. The man who does not see Thee, has beheld 
nothing; he who does not taste Thee, has a relish for 
nothing. His being is vain, and his life but a dream. 
Set up Thyself, Lord, set up Thyself, that we may 
behold Thee. 

How unhappy is that soul, who, without a sense of 
Thee, has no God, no hope, no comfort to support him^ 
But how happy the man who searches, sighs, and thirsts 
after Thee ! But he only is fully happy, on whom Thou 
liftest up the light of Thy countenance, whose tears Thou 
hast wiped away, and who enjoys in Thy loving-kindness 
the completion of all his desires. 

How long, how long, O Lord, shall I wait for that day, 
when I shall possess, in Thy presence, fulness of joy and 
pleasures for evermwe ? O my God, in this pleasing hope, 
my bones rejoice and cry out. Who is like unto Thee ! 
My heart melts away, and my soul faints within me when 
I look up to Thee, who art the God of my life, and my 
portion to all eternity, 

Fenelon^ 



Eternal Source of every joy \ 

Well may thy praise our lips employ, 

While in thy temple we appear. 

Whose goodness crowns the circling ye^r. 

Wide as the wheels of nature roll. 
Thy hand supports and guides the whole ; 
By thee the sun is taught to rise. 
And darkness when to veil the skies. 

Seasons and months, and weeks and days, 
Demand successive songs of praise ; 
Still be the cheerful homage paid, 
With morning light and evening shade. 

Doddridge, 



106 Heights of remarkable Mountains. 

JSTo. 46. Heights of remarkable Moun- 
taias. 

The White Mountains of New Hampshire exceed in 
height all the other mountains of New England. Five of 
these are estimated at more than 5,000 feet. Mount 
Washington, the highest of the range, is 6,634. 

In the Western part of North America, Fair Weather 
Mountamis reported at 8,970— and St Elias at 12,672 
ieet in height. 

In Europe, there are 27 mountains which are supposed 
to exceed 10,000 feet. Mont Blanc in Switzerland, the 
iiighest European mountain, is estimated at 15,680. 

In Africa, there are 8 mountains whose height is 10 OOQ 
feet or upwards. The Peak of Teneriffe is considered as 
the highest of the known mountains in that quarter of the 
globe. This is estimated at 15,397 feet. 

In South America, there are 31 mountains which exceed 
10,000 feet; 27 which exceed 15,000; and 9 which are 
estimated at 20,000 or upwards. Chimborazo, the highest 
ot the Andes, is supposed to be 20,892 feet. 

For a long time Chimborazo was regarded as the hio-hest 
mountain in either quarter of the world ; but in later years 
it has been discovered, that the Himmaleh, or Himalaya 
mountains of Asia, exceed the Andes in height by several 
thousand feet. ° -^ 

In this range of Asiatic mountains, 13 peaks are repre- 
sented as more than 22,000 feet in height ; and the highest 
ot the 13 is estimated by some at 25,669— by others at 
more than 28,000. 

These majestic heights display the power of him who 
"weigheth the mountains in scales," and whose "tender 
mercies are over all his works." What a privilege to 
have this Almighty and Beneficent God for a friend! 
feuch a privilege is possessed by all who love and obey 

Let heaven arise, let earth appear ! 

Said the Almighty Lord; 
The heaven arose, the earth appeared, 

At his creating word. 



On the death of a Friend. lOT 

Fair in the Almighty Maker's eye. 

The whole creation stood ; 
He viewed the fabric he had raised, 

His word prcmounced it good. 

Watts. 

So pleased at first the towering Alps we try. 
Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the sky ; 
Th' eternal snows appear already past. 
And the first clouds and mountains seem the last; 
But, those attain'd, we tremble to survey 
The growing labors of the lengthen 'd way, 
Th' increasing prospect tires our wandering eyes. 
Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise. 

Pope. 



Xo. 47. On the death of a Friend. 

Nothing is more evident than that the decays of age 
must terminate in death ; yet there is no man, says Tully, 
who does not believe that he may yet live another year ; 
and there is none who does not, "upon the same principle, 
hope another year for his parent or his friend ; but the 
fallacy will be in time detected ; the last year, the last 
day, must come. It has come, and is past The life 
which made my own life pleasant is at an end, and the 
gates of death are shut upon my prospects. 

The loss of a friend upon whom the heart, was fixed, to 
whom every wish and endeavor tended, is a state of 
dreary desolation, in Vvhich the mind looks abroad impa- 
tient of itself, and finds nothing but emptiness and horror. 
The blameless life, the artless tenderness, the pious sim- 
plicity, the modest resignation, the patient sickness, and 
the quiet death, are remembered only to add value to the 
loss, to aggravate regret for what cannot be amended, to 
deepen sorrow for what cannot be recalled. 

These are the calamities by which Providence gradually 
disengages us from the love of life. Other evils fortitude 
may repel, or hope may mitigate ; but irreparable priva- 



108 On the death of a Friend. 

tion leaves nothing to exercise resolution, or flatter expec- 
tation. The dead cannot return, and nothing is left us 
here but languishment and grief. 

Yet such is the course of nature, that whoever lives long 
must outlive those whom he loves and honors. Such is 
the condition of our present existence, that life must one 
time lose its associations, and every inhabitant of the earth 
must walk downward to the grave alone and unregarded, 
without any partner of his joy or grief, without any inter- 
ested witness of his misfortune or success. 

Misfortune, indeed, he may yet feel ; for where is the 
bottom of the misery of man ? But what is success to him 
that has none to enjoy it ? Happiness is not found in self- 
contemplation ; it is perceived only when it is reflected 
from another. 

We know little of the state of departed souls, because, 
such knowledge is not necessary to a good life* Reason 
deserts us at the brink of the grave, and can give no 
further intelligence. Revelation is not wholly silent. 
There is joy in the angels of Heaven over one sinner that 
repenteth; and surely this joy is not incommunicable to 
souls disentangled from the body, and made like angels. 

Let hope, therefore, dictate what revelation does not 
confute, that the union of souls may still remain ; and that 
we who are struggling with sin, sorrow, and infirmities, 
may have our part in the attention and kindness of those 
who have finished their course, and are now receiving their 
reward. 

These are the great occasions which force the mind to 
take refuge in religion; when we have no help in our- 
selves, what can remain but that we look up to a higher and 
a greater power ? and to what hope may we not raise our 
eyes and hearts, when we consider that the greatest Power 
is the Best ? 

Surely there is no man, who, thus afiiicted, does not 
seek succour in the gospel, which has brought life and 
immortality to light. The precepts of Epicurus, which 
teach us to endure what the laws of the universe make 
necessary, may silence but not content us. The dictates 
of Zeno, which command us to look with indifference on 
external things, may dispose us to conceal our sorrow, but 
cannot assuage it. 



Absent Friends, 109 

Real alleviation of the loss of friends, and rational tran= 
quill itj in the prospect of our own dissolution, can be 
received onlj from the promises of Hiin in whose hands 
are life and death, and from the assurance of another and 
better state, in which all tears will be wiped from the eyes, 
and the whole soul shall be filled with joj. Philosophy 
may infuse stubbornness, but Religion only can give 
patience. Johnson, 



ABSENT FRIENDS. 

When pleasure lags at music's strain 
And mirth assails the heart in vain ; 
To pensive thoughts the bosom bends^ 
And finds a theme in Msent Friends,, 

Remembrance then unfolds its store j 
Affection's tales oft told before. 
And Fancy magic visions lends. 
To catch a view of Msent Friends, 

Pale apprehension starts with fear. 
Some sad vicissitude to hear ; 
And hope with causeless terrour blends, 
For fate unknown of Msent Friends, 

The parent fond, the duteous child. 
The feeling heart by love beguil'd. 
Each to kind heaven a boon commends. 
That heaven be kind to Msent Friends, 

Constrain'd through distant climes to roamj 
Far from the sympathies of home ; 
My soul its fervent wishes sends. 
And circles round its Msent Friends, 

But jojr shall spread a brighter train, 
And mirth indulge its freest" strain. 
The happy day which absence ends. 
And gives me back my mueh-lov^d Friends» 

Catskill Recorder 
10 



110 Kentucky Cavern. 

JVo. 48. Kentucky Cavern. 

For a very interesting account of this stupendous cave, 
we are indebted to Dr. Nahum Ward, who published it in 
the Monthly Magazine of October, 1816. 

It is situated in Warren county, and in a territory not 
mountainous. The opening is from 40 to 50 feet high, 
about SO in width ; from which it is about a mile to the 
first hoppers, where a manufactory for saltpetre is estab- 
lished. 

Thence to the second hoppers, two Iniles from the 
entrance, it is 40 feet in width and 60 in height. In advanc- 
ing, the avenue leads from the second hoppers, west, one 
mile, thence southwest to the chief area, which is 6 miles 
from the entrance. 

" When," says the Doctor, " I reached this area, called 
the chief city, which contains upwards of 8 acres, without 
a single pillar to support the arch, which is entire over the 
whole, 1 was struck dumb with astonishment. 

" Nothing can be more sublime and grand than this 
place, covered with one solid arch at least one hundred 
feet high and to all appearance entire." 

Having entered the area, the Doct.or perceived five large 
avenues leading from it, from 60 to 100 feet in width, and 
about 40 in height. The first was traversed for more than 
two miles ; when a second was taken, which led more than 
two miles further. 

These windings at length brought the party by another 
avenue to the chief city again. Having reposed, for a few 
moments, they departed a second time through an avenue, 
almost north, and having proceeded upwards of two miles 
they came to the second city. 

This is covered with a single arch, neau^y 200 feet high 
in the centre. They crossed it, and descended through an 
avenue, nearly a mile, and came to a third area, about 100 
feet square and 50 in height, which had a pure stream of 
water issuing from the side of a wall about 30 feet high. 

The party entered another avenue, of uncommonly 
black hue, somewhat more than a mile, when they ascended 
a steep hill about sixty yards, to the walls of a fourth city., 
having an arch which covers at least six acres. 



Kentucky Cavern. Ill 

In this last avenue, the extremity of which cannot be 
Jess than four miles from the chief city and ten from the 
mouth of the cavern, are upwards of twenty large piles of 
saltpetre earth on the one side, and broken limestone 
heaped up on the other, evidently the work of human 
hands. 

Having entered the 5th and last avenue from the chief 
city, and proceeded about 900 yards, they came to the 
fifth area, the arch of which covers upwards of four acres 
of level ground, strewed with lime-stones, and having fire 
beds of an uncommon size, surrounded by brands of cane. 

Another avenue on the opposite side led to one of ktill 
greater capacity, the walls or sides more perfect than any 
that had been noticed^ running almost due south for 
nearly a mile and a half, with an elegant arch. 

While the Doctor was sketching the plan of the cave 
one of his guides called on him to follow. He was led 
to a vertical passage which opened into a chamber at least 
1800 feet in circumference, and the centre of the arch was 
150 feet in height. 

In the vicinity of the " haunted chamber," the sound of 
a cataract was heard ; at the extremity of the avenue was 
a reservoir of water, clear and grateful to the taste. Here 
the air was pure and delightful. 

Not far from the reservoir, an avenue presented itself, 
in which were seen several columns of the most brilliant 
spar, 60 or 70 feet in height, standing in basins of water, 
which, as well as the columns, surpassed in splendor and 
beauty, every similar work of art the Doctor had ever 
seen. 

All, he observes, who have any knowledge of this cave, 
conjecture that Green River, a stream navigable several 
hundred miles, passes over three of its branches. 

darkens Wonders, 



There is a God all nature speaks. 
Through earth and air, and seas and skies 
See from the clouds his glory breaks. 
When the first beams of morning rise ! 



112 On the celebration of victories. 

What man that views creation round. 
Can fail to own Almighty power ? 
Confess the God with awe profound. 
Come, bow before him and adore. 

Mrs, Steele, 



Tempests and winds that sweep the sky, 

Caverns and mountains bare. 
Earthquakes and storms, and swelling waves^ 

Thy grandeur all declare. 

Through all creation's widest range 

The hand of Heaven is near ; 
Where'er we wander in the world, 

Lo ! God is present there. 

Jervis. 



«]V*o. 49. On the celebration of victories. 

Rejoice not when thine enemy fallethf——' 
Lest the Lord see it and it displease him. 

• There is, perhaps, no point relating to war, the dis- 
cussion of which would be more likely to give oiFence, 
than that of celebrating victories. For in every nation, 
whether Pagan, Mahometan or Christian, some mode of 
celebration has been customary ; and the custom has been 
countenanced by men of respectability both in church and 
state. 

The modes of celebration have indeed been various in 
diiFerent ages and different countries ; but there seems to 
have been a very general belief that some mode of exulta- 
tion and triumph is proper and justifiable. 

The Roman triumphs are now generally censured as 
inhuman. But they were once as popular as any mode of 
celebration now is among Christians. From this fact, 
we may infer a probability that every mode of celebration 
which is popular in the present age, will, in a more im- 
proved state of society, be regarded with as much abhor- 
rence, as we now look back on the the triumphs of Rome. 



On the celebration of victories. 113 

Let it then be seriously asked, in what light are the 
usual celebrations of victories to be regarded ? Whose 
praises are celebrated on such occasions ? Are the offer- 
ings usually made to God, or to men ? Are they religious 
offerings, or are they irreligious ? Is the conduct of 
people, on such occasions, usually such that a benevolent 
God can regard it with complacency ? 

Can the kind Father of all be pleased to see a company 
of his children exulting in a conquest, which they nave 
obtained by the slaughter and misery of thousands of their 
brethren ? Is a conquest obtained at the expense of rivers 
of human blood, and the sufferings of an indefinite number 
of fellow beings, a proper occasion for festivity, mirth and 
triumph ? 

Do we believe that our heavenly Father is such a blood- 
thirsty being, that he can have complacency in scenes like 
these ! If we regard the sacrifices as offerings to the Lord, 
may he not justly address us in the language of reproof — 
" Who hath required this at your hand .^" / hate your 
festivals — " your hands are full of blood." 

But if these celebrations are not offerings to the Lord, 
to whom, or to what are they made ? It they are made to 
men, what is the custom better than idolatry or paganism ? 

Again, what is the tendency of such celebrations ? Do 
they excite- love and gratitude to the great Preserver of 
men ? Do they excite those tender affections which the 
children of God should exercise towards all their 
brethren ? 

Do they excite and cherish that heavenly charity, which 
is "long-suffering and kind, which envieth not, which 
vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself 
unseejnly, seeketh not her own ?" 

Are they productive of temperance in all things, and 
that meek and quiet spirit which is in the sight of God of 
great price ? Let conscience answer these questions, as 
in the presence of him who will be our judge. 

If these scenes of celebration have not a pious and 
benevolent tendency, but the contrary, can they be wor- 
thy of a Christian people, or be justified on Christian 
principles ? 

There is one view of the subject which should be more 
10* 



114 On the celebration of victories. 

distinctly considered. The glaring inhumanity implied 
in such celebrations, is enough to fill every reflecting and 
benevolent mind with horror. Great victories ai'e usually 
obtained by great slaughter. 

The rulers of nations call together armies of men, who 
have not the least ground of complaint against each other, 
and no enmity but what has been excited by the most 
unjustifiable means. These armies are then urged and 
commanded to shed each others blood. They fight for 
fame, for plunder, or to please their rulers. Thousands 
fall on each side, and thousands more are tortured with 
wounds. 

Parents are made childless, children fatherless, and 
wives converted into widows. But one of these armies 
gains a victory, and this victory is celebrated with festiv- 
ity, pomp, parade and triumph. — Can any thing, but the 
horrors of the field of battle, be more revolting to a benev- 
olent mind ! 

Had none fallen but the declared enemies of the victors, 
the triumph would be both inhuman and anti-christian. 
What then shall we say, when hundreds or thousands have 
also been slaughtered on the part of the victorious army ; 
and an indefinite number converted into mourners, and 
filled with anxiety and wo ! 

If it be the object of such celebrations to divert the 
attention of people from the crimes and horrors of war — 
to prevent all serious reflection on the subject — to bewilder 
and intoxicate the minds of the multitude, and prepare 
them for future havock; it cannot be denied that the 
means is adapted to the end. But is it possible to believe, 
that " with such sacrifices God is well pleased ?" 

It will probably be said, that celebrations are necessary 
to keep alive martial ardour, and that if they should be 
discarded, the spirit of military heroism would soon lan- 
guish, and expire. Be it even so ; the sooner it shall die 
the better. Happy for the world will be the time, when 
it shall be both dead and buried. 

For what must be the nature of that spirit, which 
requires such inhumanity to nourish and keep it alive ? 
and which will offer human sacrifices by thousands, if its 
ferocious exploits can be celebrated by an inhuman tri- 
umph I 



Ice Islands and Ice Bergs. 115 

This spirit, instead of being a protection and a blessing 
tb mankind, is the curse of nations, the mildew of the uni- 
verse. It blasts or renders insecure the fairest earthly- 
prospects of the human family ; and it costs more to feed 
and support it, than would be requisite to keep a regular, 
pacific free-school, for every ten families on the face of 
the earth, and to preserve peace throughout the world. 



Among the beasts 
Of prey, not one so vile asiavourM man. 
Beasts ViW iov food ; man kills for /ame/ Those 

spare ^ 

Their kindred race — wolves rarely wolves destroy. 
But men — O shame; in armed myriads meet 
To murder men ! and make of war on their 
Own kind, a monstrous species of renown ! 
The battle won, then comes the festival — 
The horrid, joyful, maddening feast of blood. 
While myriads slain o'erspread the field, — while groans 
Of mangled men resound through all the plain, — . 
While fathers mourn the loss of sons, and sons 
Their fathers mourn, — and widows wail 
Their husbands lost ; — midst such appalling scenes. 
The Christian murderers feast and shout, and rend 
The air with loud, and long, and mad huzzas ! 
So savage tribes exult in cruel deeds. 
And mingle yells of joy with dying groans. 
Is not the warring Christian savage still ? 

Repository, 



JVo. 50. Ice Islands and Ice Bergs. 

Many of these fluctuating islands are met with on the 
coasts of Spitsbergen, to the great danger of the vessels 
employed in the Greenland fishery. In the midst of these 
tremendous masses, navigators nave been arrested and 
frozen to death. 



116 Ice Islands and Ice Bergs. 

The vast islands of floating ice, whi-h abound in the 
high southern latitudes, are a proof that thej are visited 
with a much severer degree of cold, than equal latitudes 
towards the north pole. 

Captain Gook, in his second voyage, fell in with one of 
those Islands in latitude 50° 40' south. It was about 50 
feet high, and half a mile in circuit. In the afternoon of 
the same day, the 10th of December, 1773, he fell in with 
another about 2000 feet in length, 400 in breadth, and in 
height 200 feet. 

In his third attempt to proceed southward, in January 
1774, on the 26th of that month, his officers discovered a 
solid ice-field of immense extent. A bed of fragments 
floated around this field, which was raised several feet 
above the water 

Ninety seven ice islands were distinctly seen within 
the field, besides those on the outside ; many of them very 
large, and looking like a ridge of mountains, rising one 
above the other, until they were lost in the clouds. 

The most elevated and most ragged of these ice islands 
were surmounted by peaks, and were from two to three 
hundred feet m height, with perpendicular cliffs or sides 
astonishing to behold. 

The collision of great fields of ice, in high latitudes, is 
often attended by a noise which, for a time, takes away 
the sense of hearing any thing beside; and that of tire 
smaller fields, with a grinding of unspeakable horror. 

The water, which dashes against the mountainous ice, 
freezes into an infinite variety of forms, and presents to 
the admiring view of the voyager ideal towns, streets, 
churches, steeples, and almost every form which imagina- 
tion can picture to itself. 

Analogous to the ice fields, described above, are those 
large bodies of ice, named Ice Bergs, which fill the valleys 
between the high mountains in northern latitudes. Among 
the most remarkable are those of the east coast of Spitz- 
bergen. 

They are seven in number, and lie at considerable dis- 
tances from each other, extending through tracts unknown, 
ma region totally inaccessible in the internal parts. 

The most distant of them exhibits over the sea a front 



A JVohle Monument IH 

300 feet in height, emulating the colour of emerald : 
cataracts of melted snow fail down in various parts, and 
black spiral mountains, streaked with white, bound the 
sides, rising crag above crag, as far as the eye can reach in 
the back ground. , 

At times, immense fragments break off, and precipitate 
themselves into the water with a most alarming dashing. 
A portion of this vivid green substance was seen b}^ lord 
Mulgrave, to fall into the sea; and, notwithstanding it 
grounded in twenty four fathoms water, it spired above 
the surface 50 feet. 

These ice bergs are the creation of ages, and acquire 
annually additional height by falls of snow and ram, whicli 
latter often freezes instantly, and more than repairs the 
loss occasioned by the influence of the sun's heat, 

*^ Clarke. 

His hoary frost, his fleecy snow. 
Descend and clothe the ground ; 
The liquid streams forbear to flow, 
In icy fetters bound. 

When from his dreadful stores on high 
He pours the rattling hail. 
The wretch who dares his God defy, 
Shall find his courage fail. 

Watts, 



JVo. 51. A Noble Monument. 

In past ages, the world has been in the habit of bestow- 
ing its highest praises on martial deeds, and the warrior 
has been regarded as the glory of the human race. But 
a revolution in public opinion has commenced. Men 
begin to see that the benefactors of mankind have higher 
claims than the destroyers. 

Perhaps on no occasion has this change of opinion been 
more apparent than m the respect which has been shown 
to the memory of Richard Reynolds, of the Society of 
Friends, who died at Cheltenham, in EBgland, Sept, IQ, 



118 A JVoble Monument, 

1816. Like his Lord and and Master, he literally " went 
about doing good," relieving the wants and distresses of 
his fellow beings. 

When he fell, England felt the shock, and people of all 
ranks and all denominations united to bewail the public 
loss, and to do honour to the memory of one who had long 
shone as a li^ht in the world, and as the Friend of God 
AND Man. 

Many years prior to the decease of this good man, " On 
hearing of Lord Nelson's victory at Trafalgar, the late 
worthy John Birtill, of Bristol, placed a marble tablet in a 
private chapel, in his dwelling house, bearing this inscrip- 
tion : 

John Howard, 
' Jonas Hanway, 

John Fothergill, m. d. 

Richard Reynolds. 

*' Not unto us, Lord ! not unto us, but unto thy name 
be the glory." 

Beneath some ample hallow'd dome, 

The warrior's bones are laid. 
And blazon'd on the stately tomb 

His martial deeds display d. 

Beneath a humble roof we place 

This monumental stone. 
To names the poor shall ever bless^ 

And charity shall own : 

To soften human woes their care, 
To feel its sigh, to aid its prayer; 
Their work on earth, not to destroy. 
And their reward — their Master's joy. 

After the death of Richard Rej^nolds, the people of 
Bristol, the city of his late residence, formed a charitable 
institution to perpetuate his memory, with the name ot 
Reynolds Commemoration Society. 

This institution is perhaps the noblest Monument which 
was ever raised to the memory of a man. In reference to 
this tribute of respect, James Montgomery wrote the 



^ JYohle Monument, 119 

verses entitled " A Good Man's Monument ; — from which 
we select the following lines ; — 

When heroes fall triumphant on the plain ; 

For millions conquered, arid ten thousands slain. 

For cities levelPd, kingdoms drench'd in blood — 

Navies annihilated on the flood ; 

The pageantry of public grief requires 

The splendid homage of heroic lyres ; 

And genius moulds impassion'd brass to breathe 

The deathless spirit of the dust beneath. 

Calls marble honour from its cavern'd bed, 

x\nd bids it live — the proxy of the dead. 

Reynolds expires, a nobler chief than these ; 
No blood of widows stains his obsequies ; 
But widows' tears, in sad bereavement, fall, 
And foundling voices on their father call. 

Not in the fiery hurricane of strife, 
'Midst slaughter'd legions, he resign'd his life ; 
But peaceful as the twilight's parting ray 
His spirit vanished from its house of clay. 
And left on kindred souls such power imprestj 
They seem'd with him to enter into rest. 

Go build his monument : — -and let it be 
Firm as the land, but open as the sea. 
Low in his grave the strong foundations lie. 
Yet be the dome expansive as the sky. 
On crystal pillars resting from above 
Tts sole supporters — works of faith and love. 

One simple altar in the midst he plac'd. 

With this, and only this, inscription grac'd : 

The song of angels at Immanuel's birth, 

" Glory to God ! good will, and peace on earth." 

Let sentiments like these be diffused through the world, 
— let children be early and perseveringly taught to ven- 
erate such benevolent men as Richard Reynolds, and to 
regard with pity and horror the destroyers of mankind ; 
then a new state of society will be introduced — the strong- 
est motives to war will lose their fascinating power, and 
the custom will sink into general contempt and oblivion. 



1^0 Mrs. Elizabeth Fry. 

JVo. 52. Mrs. Elizabeth Fry. 

This great pattern of active goodness was so early 
inspired with a desire to be of use to her fellow creatui es, 
that in her eighteenth year she prevailed on her father, Mr. 
John Gurney, to convert one of the apartments in Earlharn 
Hall into a school room. Here she daily received twenty 
four children, to whom she read and explained the Bible. 

In 1800 she married Mr. Fry, who does every thing to 
facilitate her benevolent labors, and affords ample means 
of relieving the unfortunate, which she applies entirely to 
the benefit of the poor. ., r . 

Mrs. Fry makes no distinction of persons ; the untortu- 
nate are her brothers, whatever be their country or reli- 
gion. She is at once a physician for the body and the 
loul ; she comforts and feeds the poor, and supplies them 
with clothes and with Bibles, and thus she explains and 

teaches the gospel. . w, j • ^ .^ ^ 

Several years ago she conceived the design oi attempt- 
ino- a reformation among the female prisoners in Newgate, 
wli'ere about 300 women were confined for every gradation 
of crime. On her first visit she saw enough to convince 
her that evei v thing bad was going on among them. 

About Christmas, in 1816, she resumed her visits, and 
succeeded in forming a Ladies Committee, consisting of 
the wife of a clergyman and eleven members of the Soci- 
ety of Friends ; to whom the sheriffs and governor dele- 
gated every necessary authority for carrying into effect 
the benevolent plan. , , , . , 

After a year of unceasing labor, they had the noble 
satisfaction of exhibiting one of the most amazing transfor- 
mations, which was perhaps ever effected in the condition 
of a number of human beings. 

"Riot, licentiousness and filth," says Mr. Buxton, 
" were exchanged for order, sobriety, and comparative 
neatness, in the chamber, the apparel and the persons 
of the prisoners. There was no more to be seen an 
assemblage of abandoned and shameless creatures, half 
naked and half drunk, rather demanding thari requesting 
charity. 



Mrs. EUzaheth Fry. 121 

*' The prison no longer resounded with obscenity, impre- 
cations, and licentious songs. To use the strong but just 
expression of one who knew the prison well, ' this hell upon 
earW exhibited the appearance of an industrious manu- 
factory, or a well regulated family. 

" It will naturally be asked, how, and by what vital 
principle was the reformation in Newgate accomplished. 
How were a few ladies, unknown even by name to the 
magistrates of the metropolis, enabled with such facility 
to guide those who had bafded all authority, and defied all 
the menaces of the law — how was it that they * Wielded at 
will this fierce democracy ?' 

" How did they divest habit of its influence '/ By what 
charm did they transform vice into virtue, riot into order ? 
A visit to Newgate explained all. I found that the ladies 
ruled by the law of kindness, written in their hearts, and 
displayed in their actions. 

" They spoke to the prisoners with affection mixed with 
prudence. It was long since they had heard the voice of 
real compassion," or seen the example of real virtue. 

" They had steeled their minds against the terrors of 
punishment ; but they were melted at the warning voice 
of those who felt for their sorrows, while they gently 
reproved their misdeeds ; and that virtue which discovered 
itself in such amiable exertions for them, recommended 
itself to their imitation v/ith double attractions." 

By the exertions of Mrs. Fry and her associates, a 

school and a manufactory were established in this prison 

,for the benefit of the female prisoners ; and the success of 

the efforts has excited the astonishment of those who have 

visited Newgate. 

^ The late Queen being informed of the laudable exer- 
tions of MrSf Fry, expressed a wish to see her; and in an 
interview which took place, testified in the most flattering 
terms the admiration she felt for her conduct. 

In 1818, the Grand Jury of the city of London, having 
visited Newgate, expressed their approbation of Mrs. Fry's 
meritorious services in the following handsome manner : 
" The Grand Jury cannot conclude this Report without 
expressing, in an especial manner, the peculiar gratifica- 
tion they experience in observing the important services 
11 



122 Wier^s Cave. 

rendered by Mrs. Fry, and her friends, and the habits of 
religion, order, industry, and cleanliness which her 
humane, benevolent ^nd praiseworthy exertions have 
introduced among the female prisoners. 

Extracted jrom Percy Anecdotes, 

The extraordinary success of Mrs. Fry, in governing 
and reforming, by the law of kindness, may lead the way 
to many useful experiments. In every species of govern- 
ment, mankind have placed too much reliance on severity 
and terror. 

In a future day it may be found that the principle relied 
on by Mrs. Fry, is better adapted to prevent crima, to 
reclaim the vicious, and to secure obedience, thaa the 
whipping-post, the halter, or the rack.' 

Her liberal favors she extends 
To some she gives, to others lends ; 
A generous pity fills her mind ; 
Yet what her charity impairs. 
She saves by prudence in affairs. 
And thus she's just to all mankind. 

Beset with threatening dangers round. 
Unmoved does she maintain her ground ; 
Her conscience holds her courage up ; 
The soul that's fiU'd with virtue's light. 
Shines brightest in affliction's night. 
And sees in darkness beams of hope. 

Wattes — altered. 



J^o. 53. Wier's Cave in xlugiista Co. 
Virginia. 

This Cave is solid limestone, sometimes ascending, but 
more commonly descending, in its course. The entrance 
is closed by a door of tvvo feet and a half or three feet 
square. You grope through a narrow passage until ^^ou 
reach the Anti-Chamber, whose arch, 12 or 15 teet high, 
is supported by pillars in the centre. 



JVier's Cave. 123 

From the Anti-Chamber jou enter a narrow passage- 
descending some hewn steps and a wooden ladder, you 
come into Solomon's Temple — on the left is a large fluted 
column, called Solomon's Pillar, and on the sides of the 
apartment are curtains descending in wave-like folds froujL 
the ceiling to the floor. The room is 25 feet high. 
Ascending a ladder you find yourself on a rock, from 
which you look back and see the various beauties of the 
Temple to great advantage. 

By another ladder you descend into the Curtain Room, 
which is profusely ornamented with a' great variety of 
beautiful drapery. 

The Tambourine or Music Room is next. This abounds 
with stalactites similar to the curtains in the preceding 
rooms, but finer and more variously toned, and the room 
is better calculated for effect. 

You now ascend a natural and well formed staircase 
and then descend by a ladder into the Ball Room, which 
is 100 feet long and the arch 15 to 20 feet high. The 
floor is smooth and level, and the sides ornamented with 
curtains, colonnades, and various resemblances to house- 
hold furniture. 

Descending some steps hewn out of the rock, you enter 
the Vestibule, the arch of which is about the same height 
as that of the Temple. On your left as you enter, a hori- 
zontal sheet of stone, a foot thick and ,"20 feet in diameter, 
projects from the side of the Cave about midway between 
the floor and the ceiling, called Mary's Gallery. 

Returning and entering a passage on the left, Wash- 
ington's Hall, the grandest part of the Cavern, is open to 
your view. You stand at the entrance ; the guides go 
forward and arrange lights at certain distances. 

The long level floor rings beneath their tread. You see 
them a hundred paces distance, and hear their voices 
resounding from the arch that rises sublimely eighty feet 
over your head. 

Lady Washington's Drawing Room is next visited; 
a spacious and handsome apartment. Just within the room 
on the right, is a large bureau, on which many names are 
inscribed. 

The Diamond Room is next, and derives its name from 



124 The best way to hear Calumny. 

the sparkling brilliancy of its walls. The Enchanted 
Room has a wild variety, Jwhich, by the help of a vivid 
imagination, may be transformed into a new creation. 

Returning by the same passage through the Diamond 
Rooni; you come to the wilderness, rough and irregular 
below, on the sides and above. 

The Garden of Eden is the last scene. This room is 
spacious, lofty, and its decorations are superb and various. 

Calvin Jones. 



?* Rocks reared on rocks in huge disjointed piles. 
Form the tall turrets and the lengthened aisles ; 
Broad ponderous piers sustain the roof, and wide. 
Branch the vast Rainbow ribs from side to side. 
While from above descends in milky streams, 
One scanty pencil of illusive beams. 
Suspended crags and gaping gulphs illume. 
And gild the horrors of the deepened gloom." 

duthor not known. 



JVo. 54. The best way to bear Calumny. 

A GOOD conscience is to the soul what health is to the 
body ; it preserves a constant ease and serenity within us, 
and more than countervails all the calamities and afflic- 
tions which can possibly befal us. 

I know nothing so hard for a generous mind to get over 
as calumny and reproach, and cannot find any method of 
quieting the soul under them, besides this single one, of 
being conscious to ourselves that we do not deserve, 
them. 

The way to silence calumny, says Bias, is to be always 
exercised in such things as are praiseworthy. Socrates, 
after having received sentence, told his friends that he 
had always accustomed himself to regard truth, and not 
censure, and that he was not troubled at his condemnation, 
because he knew iiimself free from guilt. 

Others of the philosophers rather chose to retort the 
injury by a smart reply, than thus to disarm it with respect 



jTAe hesf way to bear Calumny. 125 

for themselves. Thej shew that it stung them, though 
they had the address to make their aggressors suffer with 
them. 

Of this kind was Aristotle's reply to one who pursued 
him with long and bitter invectives. " You," says he, 
" who are used to suffer reproaches, utter them with 
delight ; I who have not been used to utter them, take 
no pleasure in hearing them." 

Diogenes was still more severe on one who spoke ill 
of him. " Nobody will believe you when you speak ill of 
me, any more than they would believe me should 1 speak 
well of you." 

In these and many other instances, the bitterness of the 
answer sufficiently testifies the uneasiness of mind the 
person was under who made it. I would rather advise 
my reader, if he has not, in this case, the secret consola- 
tion that he deserves no such reproaches, to follow the 
advice of Epictetus: — 

" If any one," said he, " speaks ill of thee, consider 
whether he has truth on his side ; and if so, reform thy- 
self, that his censures may not affect thee." 

When Anaximander was told that the very boy'^ 
laughed at his singing, " Ay," said he, " then I must leara 
to sing better." But of all the sajings of philosophers, 
there are none which carry in them more candor and good 
sense than the two following ones of Plato : 

Being told that he had many enemies who spoke ill of 
him — " It is no matter," said he, " I will live so that none 
shall iielieve them,"— Hearing at another time that an 
intimate friend had spoken detractingly of him, — " I am 
sure he would not do it," says he, " if he had not some 
reason for it." 

This is the surest as well as the noblest way of draw- 
ing a sting out of a reproach, and a true method of pre- 
paring a man for ihdt great and only relief against the 
pains of calumny — a good conscience. 

Jlddison* 
11^ 



126 Stage of Society in the fifteenth century, 

Th' insidious slandering thief is worse 
Than the poor rogue who steals jour purse. 
Sajj he purloins jour glittering store ; 
Who takes jour gold takes trash — no more, 
But the dark villain who shall aim 
To blast thj fair, thj spotless name 
He'd steal a precious gem awaj, 
Steal what both Indies can't repaj ! 
Here the strong pleas of want are vain, 
Or the more impious pleas of gain. 
No sinking familj to save ! 
Kg gold to glut th' insatiate knave. 

Cotton, 



JV(9. 55o State of Society in the fifteenth 
century. 

The state of England and France, the two most polished 
kingdoms in Europe, furnishes a sood criterion of the 
condition of societj in those ages of which we have been 
treating. 

Even in the large cities, the houses v/ere roofed with 
thatch, and had no chimnies. Glass windows were 
extremelj rare ; and the floors were covered with straw. 

In England, wine was sold onlj in the shops of Apoth- 
ecaries. Paper made from linen rags, was first manufac- 
tured in the beginning of the fifteenth centurj ; and the 
use of linen for shirts was at that time a verj rai^e piece 
ofluxurj. 

Yet even before that age the progress of luxurj had 
excited a serious alarm ; for the parliament under Edward 
III, found it necessarj to prohibit the use of gold and silver 
in apparel, to all who had not a hundred pounds a jear. 
Charles VI, of France, ordained that none should presume 
to entertain with more than two dishes and a mess of soup. 

Before the reign of Edward I, the whole countrj of 
England was plundered bj robbers in great bands, wha 
laid waste entire villages j and some of the household offi- 



The Memah and Mahomet. 127 

cers of Henry III, excused themselves for robbing on the 
highway because the king allowed them no wages. 

In 130S the abbot and monks of Westminster were 
indicted for robbing the king's exchequer, but acquitted., 

The admirable laws of Edward I, which acquired him 
the title of the English Justinian, gv^ strong testimony of 
the miserable policy and barbarism of the preceding times, 

Tytler^s Elements^ 



Successive generations find. 

In many things, forefathers blinds 

Nor should we wonder — 'tis a truth. 

That infancy and early youth 

Precede the manhood of our race. 

To give inquiry time and place. 

More early errors to correct, 

And reformation to eiFect. 

To all enlightened men 'tis clear 

Our race advances every year ; 

Though slow their progress, 'tis most sure. 

And will from age to age endure. 

Repository, 



Xo, 56. The Messiah and Mahomet. 

The Messiah appeared among men as the Prince of 
Peace — " meek and lowly of heart." Mahomet appeared 
as a Prince of War. The doctrines, the precepts and 
the examples of the Messiah were all of a pacific character. 
Those of Mahomet, vindictive, cruel and bloody. 

The Messiah promised blessedness to ''peace-makers," 
and to those who "should " sufter for righteousness' sake." 
Mahomet promised the joys of paradise to those who 
should die fighting as his followers. 

As there was such a perfect contrast between these 
Leaders, it would be natural to suppose that the disciples 
of the Messiah would be of a pacific character, and the 
disciples of Mahomet, men of war and blood. Once ^ 



1^8 - The Messiah and Mahomet 

a fighting disciple of the Messiah would have been regard- 
ed as a contradiction in terms. 

Now Christians and Mahometans are on a level, as to 
the practice of war. Whose disciples then are fighting 
Christians? Are they the followers of the Messiah? 
Are they not rather foUoivers of Mahomet, notwithstand- 
ing the name they assume ? 

A custom which so violates the principles and spirit of 
Christianity, as to abolish the distinction between the 
sheep of Christ and the ferocious followers of Mahomet, 
must have had a pernicious effect — it must have exposed 
Christians to the reproach of all other nations who have 
been informed that the Messiah was the Prince of peace. 

If Heathens and Mahometans were to form their opin- 
ion of the Messiah merely by what they see in professed 
Christians, in relation to war, they would naturally sup- 
pose, that he was such an one as the Jews expected, a vin= 
dictive, fighting" character ; and that his days on earth 
were spent in teaching his disciples the art of war, and 
how to keep alive the war spirit. 

But having formed this opinion of the Messiah, should 
they then read his life and his precepts, what would be their 
astonishment ! What would they think of fighting Chris- 
tians J Would they not be ready to exclaim, * Ye hypo- 
crites ! lay aside your name, or cesi&e to fight P 

It has already been observed that Mahomet encouraged 
his followers to fight by proniises of future blessedness, 
should they die in battle. In the same manner the pagan 
priests among the Ooths and Vandals inspired their sol- 
diers with courage. " All agreed," says Gibbon, " that a life 
spent in arms and a glorious death in battle, were the best 
preparatives for a happy futurity." 

This Mahometan antl Gothic doctrine was adopted by 
the papal clergy, and employed to encourage men to fight 
their battles; and how often have the protes tan t clergy 
followed this dreadful example ! What can be more shock- 
ing than to hear the ministers of the gospel employ the 
promises of future bliss, to excite armies of men to mur- 
der one another ! 

And does not this agreement between Mahometan, 
Gothic and Christian ministers, in their mode of exciting 



The Messiah and Mahomet. 129 

men to deeds of blood, afford ample proof of glaring apos- 
tacy from Christian principles, or of the most fatal delu- 
sions ? 

If there be nothing antichristian in the custom of war, 
then our Saviour may be justly proclaimed to the world as 
the fighting Messiah ; for " follow me" is his command 
to every disciple. 

But if Christians would be shocked to hear their Mes- 
siah reproached as a bloody warrioi', the elder brother of 
Mahomet, why are they not shocked to find themselves 
the followers of a man whose character, example and pre- 
cepts were the reverse of the Messiah's ? 



While sounds of war are heard around. 
And death and ruin strew the ground j 
To thee we look ; on thee we call, 
The Parent and the Lord of all ! 

Thou who hast stamp'd on human kind 
The image of a heaven-born mind. 
And in a Father's wide embrace 
Hast cherish'd all the human race °, 

O see with what insatiate rage 
Thy sons their impious battles wage ; 
How spreads destruction like a flood 
And brothers shed their brothers' blood ! 

See guilty passions spring to birth. 
And deeds of hell deform the earth ; 
"While righteousness and justice mourn. 
And love and pity droop forlorn. 

Great God ! whose powerful hand can bind 

The raging waves, the furious wind, 

bid the human tempest cease, 

And hush the madd'ning world to peace. 

With reverence may each hostile land 
Hear and obey that high command. 
Thy Son's blest errand from above, 
" My creatures live in mutual love." 

Mkem- 



130 The Siork. 

JSTo. 57. The Stork. 

The Stork is a, bird similar to the Crane in size, has the 
same formation as to the bill, neck, legs and body, but is 
rather more corpulent. The colour of the Crane is ash 
and black ; that of the Stork is white and brown. The 
nails of its toes are also very peculiar ; not being clawed 
like those of other birds, but flat like the nails of a man. 

It has long been remarkable for its love to its parents, 
whom it never forsakes, but tenderly feeds and cherishes 
when they have become old, and unable to provide for 
themselves. Its very name in the Hebrew language, 
chasida, signifies mercy or piety. 

Eev. Br, Harris. 



" The Stork's an emblem of true piety ; 
Because when age has seized, and made his dam 
Unfit for flight, the grateful young one takes 
His mother on his back, provides her food, 
Repaying thus her tender care of him. 
E'er he was fit to fly." Beaumont. 

The Stork is spoken of in Scripture as a bird of passage. 
" The Stork knoweth her appointed time." 

" Who bids the Stork, Columbus like, explore 
Heavens not its own, and worlds unknown before ? 
Who calls the council, states the certain day. 
Who forms the phalanx, and who points the way .^" 

Fope. 

The stork-assembly meets ; for many a day 
Consulting deep and various, e'er they take 
Their arduous voyage through the liquid sky. 
And now their route design'd, their leaders chose. 
Their tribes adjusted, clean'd their vigorous wings, 
And many a circle, many a short essay, 
Wheel'd round and round, in congregation full 
The figur'd flight ascends ; and, riding high 
The aerial billows, mixes with the clouds." 

Thomson* 



The Ostrich, 131 

" Part loosely wing the region, part, more wise. 
In common, ranged in figure, wedge their way, 
Intelligent of seasons, and set forth 
Their airj caravan, high over seas 
Flying, and over lands, with mutual wing 
Easing their flight." Milton. 



J\*o. 58. The Ostrich. 

The Ostrich is generally thought to be the largest, at 
least it is one of the tallest birds in the world ; being full 
seven and sometimes eight feet in height, from the +op of 
the head to the ground, and about four from the back to 
the ground. 

When the neck is stretched ought in a right line, it 
measures six feet from the head to the tail ; and the tail 
about a foot more. One of the wings is a foot and a half 
long without the feathers, and with the feathers three feet. 
The plumage is generally black and white, though it is 
said to be sometimes grey. 

Mev. Br. Harris, 

The beauty of a part of this plumage, particularly the 
long feathers that compose the wings and tail, is the chief 
reason that man has been so active in pursuing this harm- 
less bird to its deserts, and hunting it with no small de- 
gree of expense and labor. 

Beside the value of their plumage, some of the savage 
nations of Africa hunt them also for their flesh, which 
they consider as a dainty. There are others, who, more 
compassionate or more provident, do not kill their captive, 
but endeavor to tame it, for the purposes of supplying 
those feathers which are in so great request. 

The inhabitants of Dara and Lybia breed up whole 
flocks of them, and they are tamed with very little trouble. 
But it is not for their feathers alone that they are prized 
in this domestic state ; they are often ridden upon and 
used as horses. 

Moore assures us, that at Joar he saw a man travelling 
upon an Ostrich ; and Adanson asserts that, at the factory 



132 Letter from Pliny to Paternus. 

of Podore, he had two Ostriches, which were then young, 
the strongest of which ran swifter than the best English 
racer, although he carried two negroes on his back. 

As soon as the animal perceived that it was thus loaded, 
it set off running with all its force, and made several 
circuits round the village ; till at length the people were 
obliged to stop it by barring up the way. 

How far this strength and swiftness may be useful to 
mankind, even in a polished state, is a matter that perhaps 
deserves inquiry. Posterity may avail themselves of this 
creature's abilities ; and riding upon an Ostrich may one 
day become the favourite, as it most certainly is the swift- 
est mode of conveyance. Goldsmith. 

Didst thou the Ostrich clothe with plumes so fair ? 
Which, nor with falcon's nor the stork s compare ; 
Who heedless roaming, or bj^ fear subdued, 
Feels not a parent's fond solicitude. 
While far she flies her scatter'd eggs are found. 
Without an owner, on the sandy ground ; 
Cast out at fortune, they at mercy lie. 
And borrow life from an indulgent sky. 
Unmindful she that some unhappy tread 
May crush her young in their neglected bed ; 
As far she wanders for her daily food. 
Or on her way adopts some casual brood. 
And these without discrimination share 
Offered attendance, not instinctive care. 
Yet when her sudden enemy she sees, 
Uprising, with the favouring gale, shB flees, 
And skims along the plain with rapid speed. 
And scorns alike the hunter and his steed. 

Scott. 



JVo. 09. Letter from Pliny to Paternus. 

The sickness which has lately run through my family, 
and carried off several of my domestics, some of them too 
i^ the prime of their years, has deeply affected me. I have 



Letter from Pliny to Paternus, 133 

two consolations, however, which, though they are not 
adequate fo so considerable a loss, still thej are conso- 
lations. 

One is, that as I have always very readily manumised 
my slaves, their death does not seem altogether immature, 
if they lived long enough to receive their freedom. The 
other, that I have allowed them to make a will, which I 
observe as religiously as if they were legally entitled to 
that privilege. 

1 receive and obey their last requests, as so many abso- 
lute commands suffering them to dispose of their effects to 
whom they please, with this single restriction, that they 
leave them to some of the family; which, to persons in 
their station, is to be considered as a sort of common^ 
wealth. 

But though I endeavor to acquiesce under these reflec- 
tions, yet the same tenderness which led me to shew them 
these indulgencies, still breaks out and renders me too 
sensibly affected by their deaths. 

However, I would not wish to be incapable of those 
tender impressions of humanity ; though the generality of 
the world, I know, look upon losses of this kind in no other 
view, than as a diminution of their property ; and fancy, 
by cherishing such an unfeeling temper, they discover 
superior fortitude and philosophy. 

Their fortitude and philosophy, I will not dispute, but 
humane, I am sure they are not ; for it is the very crite- 
rion of true manhood, to feel those impressions of sorrow, 
which it endeavors to resist ; and to admit, not to be above 
the want of consolation. 

But perhaps I have detained you too long upon this 
subject, — though not so long as 1 would. There is a cer- 
tain pleasure in giving vent to one's grief; especially 
when we pour out our sorrow in the bosom of a friend, who 
will approve, Oi\at least pardon our tears. Farewell. 

Well might many slaveholders, called Christians, blush 
for themselves, in view of the humanity of this heathen 
philosopher. It is hoped that Pliny's example and the . 
following lines of poetry, will cooperate for the good of 
Christians, who indulge the spirit of pride and oppression. 
12 



134 The Banian Tree. 

How still and peaceful is the grave ! 

Where life's vain tumults past. 
The appointed house, by Heaven's decree, 

Receives us all at last. 

The wicked there from troubling cease ; 

Their passions rage no more ; 
And there the weary pilgrim rests 

From all the toils he bore. 

There rests the prisoners, now released 

From slavery's sad abode ; 
No more they hear the oppressor's voice, 

Or dread the tyrant's rod. 

There servants, masters, small and great* 

Partake the same repose ; 
And there in peace the ashes mix 

Of those who once were foes. 

All levelled by the hand of death 

Lie sleeping in the tomb 
Till God in judgment calls them forth 

To meet their righteous doom. 

Scotch Paraphrase, 



%]Vo. 60. Eemarkable Trees. 

THE BANIAN TREE. 

The Banian tree is considered as one of the most curi- 
ous and beautiful of nature's productions in the climate of 
India. Each tree is in itself a grove, and some of them of 
amazing size, as they are continually increasing, and seem 
to be exempted from decay. 

For every branch from the main body throws out its own 
roots, at first in small tender fibres, several yards from 
the ground, V\hich continually grow thicker, until, by a 
gradual descent, they reach its surface; where, striking 
m, they increase to a large trunk and become a parent 
irecj throwing out new branches from the top. 



The Bread-fruit Tree. 135 

These in time suspend their roots, and, receiving nour- 
ishment from the earth, swell into trunks, and shoot forth 
other branches ; thus continuing in a state of progression 
so long as the first Parent of all supplies her sustenance. 

A Banian tree with many trunks, forms the most beau- 
tiful walks and cool recesses that can be imagined. The 
leaves are large, soft, and of a lively green ; the fruit is a 
small fig, when ripe of a bright scarlet. 

The Hindoos are peculiarly fond of this tree ; they con- 
sider its long duration, its outstretching arms, and over- 
shadowing beneficence, as emblems of the Deity, and 
almost pay it divine honors. 

On the banks of the Narbudda, in the province of Guz- 
zerat, is a Banian tree, distinguished by the name of the 
Cubbeer Burr, which was given to it in honor of a famous 
saint. 

The large trunks of this single tree amount to 350 — 
the smaller ones exceed 3000; each of these is constantly 
sending forth branches and hanging roots, to form other 
trunks. 

The Indian armies generally encamp around it ; Hin- 
doo festivals are there celebrated. It is said that 7000 
people find ample room to repose under its shade. 

darkens Wonders. 



THE BREAD-FRUIT TREE. 

Captain Portp:r, in his Journal, gives the following 
account of the Bread-fruit Tree on what he called Madi- 
son's Island : — 

It is of the height of 50 or 60 feet, branching out in a 
large spreading top, which affords a beautiful appearance, 
and an extensive shade from the rays of the sun ; the 
lower branch is about 12 feet from the ground; the bark 
soft, and on being wounded exudes a milky juice, not 
unpleasant to the taste, which, on being exposed to the 
sun, forms an excellent bird-lime. 

The leaves of this tree are sixteen inches long and nine 
inches wide, deeply notched, somewhat like the fig leaf. 
The fruit, when ripe, is about the size of a chil/d's head — 
somewhat elliptical in its shape— has a thin <i(nd delicate 



JtJ6 The Cow Tree, 

skin, a large tough core with remarkable small seeds, 
situated in a spoiigy substance between the core and 
eatable part, which is next to the rind. 

It is eaten baked, boiled, or roasted ; whole, quartered, 
or cut in slices, and cooked ; either way was found ex- 
ceedingly palatable, was greatly preferred by many to our 
soft bread, which it somewhat resembled in taste, but was 
much sweeter. 

The Bread-fruit Tree is every thing to ihQ natives of 
these islands. The fruit serves them and their hoffs for 
food throughout the year, and affords large supplies to be 
.laid up tor a season of scarcity. 

The trees atford them an agreeable and refreshing shade ; 
the leaves afford excellent covering for their horses ; of 
the inner bark of the small branches they make cloth ; 'the 
juice, which exudes, enables them to destroy the rats 
which infest them ; and of the trunk of the tree they form 
their canoes, many parts of their houses, and even their 
gods. 

Describe to one of the natives of Madison's Island a 
country abounding in every thing that we consider desira- 
ble, and he will ask you if it produces bread-fruit. A 
country is nothing to them without this blessing. 

THE COW TREE, 

Amid the great number of curious phenomena, which 
have presented themselves to me in the course of my 
travels, I confess there are few that have so powerfully 
affected my imagination as the aspect of the Cow Tree. 

On the barren flank of a rock grows a tree with coria- 
ceous and dry leaves. Its large woody roots can scarcely 
penetrate into the stone. For several months of the year, 
not a single shower moistens its foliage. Its branches 
appear dead and dried; but when the trunk is pierced, 
there flows out a most sweet and nourishing milk. 

It is at the rising of the sun, that this vegetable fountain 
is most abundant. The blacks and natives are then seen 
iiastening from all quarters, furnished with large bowls to 
receive the milk, which grows yellow and thick at the 
surface. Some employ their bowls under the tree itself i 



The Palm Tree. - 137 

others carry the juice home to their children. We seem, 
to see the family of a shepherd who distributes the milk 
of his flock. 

1 have described the sensations which the Cow Tree 
awakens in the mind of the traveller at the first view. 
In examining the physical properties of animal and vege- 
table products, science displays them as closely linked 
together; the chemical principles which were believed to 
be peculiar to animals, are found in plants ; a common 
chain links together all organic nature 

HumboWs Travels in South America. 



THE PALM TREE. 

Dr. Clark, in his Travels, gives the following account 
of the " few plantations of Palm-trees," on the way from 
Alexandria in Egypt to Aboukir, 

The dates hung from these trees in such large and 
tempting clusters, although not quite ripe, that we climbed 
to the tops of some of them, and carried away with us large 
branches with their fruit. In this manner dates are some- 
times sent with the branches to Constantinople. 

The leaves of these trees, when grown to a size for 
bearing fruit, are six or eight feet long; and may be 
termed branches, for they have no other. A ripe Egyp- 
tian date, although a delicious fruit, is never refreshing to 
the palate. It suits the Turks, who are fond of sweet- 
meats of ail kinds. 

The largest plantation occurred about half way from 
Alexandria to Aboukir ; the trees here were very lofty, 
and from the singular formation of their bark, we found it 
as easy to ascend to the tops of these trees, as to climb the 
steps of a ladder. 

The extensive importance of the date tree is one of the 
most curious subjects to which a traveller can turn his 
attention. A considerable part of the inhabitants of Egypt, 
of Arabia, and Persia, subsist almost entirely upon its 
fruit. They boast also of its medicinal virtues. 

Their camels feed upon the date-stones. From their 
leaves they make couches, baskets, bags, mats, and brush- 
es ; from the branches, cages for their poultry, and fences > 
12* 



138 Ode to the Olive Tree, T 

for their gardens ; from the fibres of the boughs, thread, 
ropes, and rigging. 

From the sap is prepared a spirituous liquor ; and the 
body of the tree furnishes fuel. It is even said that from 
one variety of the Palm-tree, meal has been extracted, 
vt^hich is found among the fibres of the trunk, and has been 
used fo^ food. 



ODE TO THE OLIVE TREE. 

Although thy flowers minute, disclose 
No colours rivalling the rose. 

And lend no odours to the gale, 
"While dimly through the pallid green 
Of thy long slender leaves, are seen 

Thy berries pale. 

Yet for thy virtues art thou known. 
And not the Anana's burnish'd cone. 

Or golden fruits that bless the earth 
Of Indian climes, however fair. 
Can with thy modest boughs compare, 

For genuine worth. 

Man, from his early Eden driven. 
Received thee from relenting heaven, 

And thou the swelling surge abore 
Symbol of pardon, deign 'd to rear 
Alone thy ^/iilowy head to cheer. 

The wandering dove. 

Thou still 'st the wild and troubled waves. 
And as the human tempest raves 

When wisdom bids the tumult cease ; 
Then, round her calm majestic brows 
She binds,^— and waves thy sacred boughs, 

Emblems of peace. 

Charlotte Smitlu 



False sentiments on JVational Honor. 139 

JVb. 61. False seiitiineiits on National 
Honor. 

I HAVE thought that important aid would be given to the 
cause of peace, could we correct the false sentiments which 
prevail on the subject of national honor. 

These sentiments have come down from barbarous ages, 
and although directly opposed to the spirit of Christianity, 
are diffused through every christian country, without dis- 
tinction of rank or party. 

In what is the honor of a nation supposed to consist ? 
In its virtues ? its liberty? its internal administration of 
justice? its equity towards foreign nations? its love of 
peace, and culture of benevolence ? 

No ; these have nothing to do with a nation's honor. 
It consists in repelling with irritation whatever wears the 
form of injury from other nations, although this injury may 
have been provoked ; and in lighting with desperate cour- 
age, no matter how iniquitous the conflict. 

The honor of a nation, in the view of multitudes, is 
precisely the same thing with the honor of a duellist. It 
does not consist in following with a generous consistency 
the principles of rectitude ; but in drawing the Sword with 
spirit, and in fighting with gallantry. 

A nations honor does not suffer from intrigue, from 
perfidy, from trampling on the rights of other communi- 
ties, fronl waging cruel wars. It suffers by patience, by 
forbearance, and especially by defeat, even though it has 
exerted every power in its own defence. 

A nation is thought to reach the highest point of honor, 
when it obtains conquests, although its cause is unjust, 
and it has stooped for success to the basest means. 

We have striking examples of these sentiments and of 
their ruinous effects in all nations, and especially in France 
during her late revolutionary struggles. 

That great but misguided nation really imagined that 
her honor was promoted, when her late despot led her 
armies to victory, although every victory fastened more 
firmly an iron yoke on her own neck. 

Parents, whose children were torn from them, to slay 
«,nd to be slain, found relief in the hope that the honor of 



104 False sentiments on JVational Honor. 

the nation was to be extended ; and even now, the release 
of the French from the fangs of their oppressor is not a 
little embittered by the thought, that their country has 
been disgraced by the defeat of their arms. 

They see nothing dishonorable in the invasion of other 
nations without any motive but the rage for conquest. 
But the recollection that their own country has in turn 
been overrun by invaders, is a wound which rankles in 
their breasts ; and many would see with pleasure Europe 
again convulsed, that this foul stain might be washed 
away. 

This proneness to place national honor in military 
courage is an error which the interests of humanity call 
us loudly to correct. What after all is the claim of this 
courage to our respect? 

It is certainly a very vulgar virtue. It grows up with- 
out extraordinary culture in almost every breast. Men of 
no character and no principle, the very offscouring of our 
streets, if turned into the ranks, soon catch this contagious 
courage, and fight as resolutely as men of real elev^-tion of 
mind. 

To those of us, who live in a condition of ease and secu- 
rity, this courage seems a wonderful acquisition. But to 
a man living in a camp, where cowardice is not only 
infamy but death, and where danger is the most familiar 
object to the mind, it springs up almost mechanically; 
and a man must have a more than common share of 
timidity in his constitution, if he do not easily acquire it. 

There is courage of a very different nature from this, 
the courage of principle, which in the city as well as in 
the camp, dares say and do what conscience dictates, and 
dares nothing more. 

This courage it is most honorable to venerate and 
cherish; but unhappily this is not thought to enter into 
the constitution of a nation's honor. 

The false but prevalent sentiment, which I have labored 
to expose, that the honor of a nation consists in military 
courage and conquest, is most pernicious in its influences. 

Nations are thus brought to enter with zeal into wars, 
which have no foundation but the ambition of rulers. 
They submit to intolerable burdens for the support of 
military establishments. 



False sentiments on JVational Honor. 141 

They are willing that the Hood and resources of the 
state should be wasted in pursuit of that phantom, mdi- 
tarj renown — and all the compensation which they 
receiye for this impoverishment and slaughter, is, that they 
hear occasionally a peal of cannons and bells in .celebra- 
tion of a glorious victory, and are assured, that never was 
the honor of a nation so gallantly maintained. 

Let it not be imagined'that I would have a nation insen- 
sible to its honor. The unhappiness is, that their true 
glory is regarded with such entire unconcern. This, I 
repeat it, consists in the virtue, intelligence, and free 
spirit of a people, and in the adherence of its government 
to an upright, liberal, and pacific policy. When will 
nations learn these obvious truths? 

When will they learn to measure their honor, by the aid 
they aftbrd to the cause of human improvement in knowl- 
edge and liberty, in the arts and virtues, and not by the 
desolations they spread around them? not by qualities ia 
which they are equalled by almost every barbarous horde, 
by men in the rudest stages of society ? 

Mev, Dn Channin^- 



Ah ! why will Princes, in their thirst for fame, 

Forget Humanity's dear, sacred claim ! 

When will the mighty Troublers of the earth 

Learn to appreciate their subjects' worth ? 

Begin to know that, in God's equal ken, 

Monarchs and Heroes merge but into men ? 

That, at his bar, the sceptre and the crown,— 

Sword, batoon, banner, must be all laid down :— 

That state memorials cannot there prevail ; 

Nor crafty, deep-laid intrigue ought avail P 

The cry of blood has reach'd th' Eternal's throne. 

And Heaven prepares to make its vengeance known ; 

Whilst ruin'd souls in wrathful myriads wait. 

To drag the Hero to the realms of fate ; 

And swell the pangs his tortur'd spirit bears, 

By bitter curses, through revolving years. 

Oh ! when will nations link, with friendly bands, 

Th' approaching bound'ries of contiguous lands f- 



142 The docility of Animals. 

When overleap the regions' rocky mound^ 
And clasp, in charity, the realms around ? 
Extend their sympathies to all the race, — 
And view a friend in every human face. 

Bailey. 



JVo. 6S. The docility of Animals. 

Of all animals capable of culture, man is the most 
ductile. By instruction, imitation, and habit, his mincj 
may be moulded into any form. It may be exalted by 
science and art to a degree of knowledge, of which the 
vulgar and uninformed have not the most distant con- 
ception. 

The reverse is melancholy. When the human mind is 
left to its own operations, and deprived of almost every 
opportunity of social information, it sinks so low, that it 
is nearly rivalled by the most sagacious brutes. 

Besides man, many other animals are capable of being 
instructed. The Ape kind, especially the larger species, 
imitate the actions of men without any instruction. The 
Orang Outang is as tall and is as strong as a man. His 
face is flat. His arms, hands, toes and nails are perfectly 
similar to ours. The features of his face make a near 
approach to those of the human countenance. 

" The Orang Outang," says Buffom, « which I saw, walked 
always on two hei, even when carrying things of consid- 
erable weight. His air was melancholy, his movements 
measured, his dispositions gentle, and very different from 
other Apes. 

" I have seen this animal present his hand to conduct 
the people who came to see him, and walk as gravely 
along as if he had formed a part of the company. I have 
seen him sit down at table, unfold his towel, wipe his lips, 
use a spoon or a fork to carry his victuals to his mouth, 
pour his liquor into a glass, and make it touch that of the 
person who drank with him. 

" v^* hen invited to drink tea, he brought a cup and 
saucer, placed them on the table, put in sugar, poured 



The docility of Animals, 143 

out the tea, and allowed it to cool before he drank it. 
All these actions he performed without any other instiga- 
tion than the signs or verbal orders of his master, and 
often of his own accord. 

" He did no injury to any person. He even approached 
company with circumspection, and presented himself as if 
he wanted to be caressed. He was very fond of dainties, 
w^hich every body gave him. He lived one summer in 
Paris, and died in London the following winter." 

Of all quadrupeds of whose history and manners we 
have any knowledge, the elephant is most remarkable 
both for docility and understanding. Though his size is 
enormous, and his members rude and disproportioned, 
which give him the aspect of dulness and stupidity, his 
genius is great, and his sagacious manners, and his 
sedate and collected deportment are almost incredible. 

When tamed and instructed by man, the elephant is 
soon rendered the mildest and most obedient of all domes- 
tic animals. He loves his keeper, caresses him, and 
anticipates his commands. He learns to comprehend 
signs, and even to understand the expression of sounds. 
The voice of his master he never mistakes. His orders 
are executed with alacrity but without precipitation. 

*' I was eye witness," says P. Philippi, " to the follow- 
ing facts. At Goa there are always elephants employed 
in the building of ships. Some men tie the ends of the 
heaviest beams to a rope, which is handed to the elephant, 
who carries it to his mouth, and after twisting it round his 
trunk, draws it, without any conductor, to the place where 
the ship is building, though it had been but once pointed 
out to him. 

" He sometimes drew beams so large that twenty men 
would have been unable to move them. But what sur- 
prised me still more, when other beams obstructed the 
road, he elevated the end of his own beam, that it might 
run easily over those which lay in the way. Could the 
most enlightened man do more ?" 

Uniting sagacity with strength, they never break or 
injure any thing committed to their charge. From the 
margin of rivers, they put weighty bundles into boats, 
without wetting them, lay them down gently, and arrange 
them where they ought to be placed. 



144 The docility of Animals. 

When the goods are disposed as the master directs, thejr 
examine with their trunks whether the articles are properly 
stowed ; and if a cask or tun rolls, they go spontaneously 
in quest of a stone to prop and render it firm. 

Next to the elephant, the dog seems to be the most 
docile quadruped. A wild dog is a passionate, ferocious, 
sanguinary animal. But after he is reduced to a domestic 
state, these hostile dispositions are suppressed, and they 
are succeeded by a warm attachment, and a desire of 
pleasing. 

The perceptions and natural talents of the dog are 
acute. When these are aided by instruction, the sagacity 
he discovers, and the actions he is taught to perform, often 
excite our wonder. He assumes the very tone of the 
family in v/hich he resides. 

The shepherd's dog seems to be endowed by nature with 
an innate attachment to the preservation of sheep and 
cattle. His docility is likewise so great that he not only 
learns to understand the language and commands of the 
shepherd, and obeys with alacrity, but he often stops 
when at a distance, looks back, and recognizes the appro- 
bation or disapprobation of the shepherd by the mere wav- 
ing of the hand. 

He reigns at the head of a flock, and is better heard 
than the voice of his master. His vigilance and activity 
produce order, discipline and safety. Sheep and cattle 
are peculiarly subjected to his management, whom he 
prudently conducts and protects, and never employs force 
against them, except for the preservation of peace and 
good order 

Without any other instruction than imitation, a mastiif, 
when accidentally shut out from a house which his master 
frequented, uniformly rung the bell for admittance. Dogs 
can be taught to go to market with money, to repair to a 
known butcher, and to carry home the meat in safety. 
They can be taught to dance to music, and to search for 
and find any thing that is lost. 

A dog belonging to a grocer in Edinburgh has, for some 
time, amused and astonished the people in the neighbour- 
hood. A man who goes through the street ringing a bell 
and selling penny^ pies, happened one day to treat thi^ 



The docility of Animals. 145 

dog with a pie. The next time he heard the pie-man's 
bell, he ran to him, seized him by the coat, and would not 
suifer him to pass. 

The pie-man understood what the animal wanted, 
showed him a penny and pointed to his master, who stood 
in the street door and saw what was going on. The dog 
immediately supplicated his master by many humble ges- 
tures and looks. 

The master put a penny into the dogs mouth, which he 
instantly delivered to the pie-man, and received his pie. 
This traffic between the pie-man and the grocer's dog has 
been daily practised for months past, and still continues. 

Smellie, 

The dogs of Kamtschatka are strong, nimble and active, 
and are very useful in drawing sledges, the only method of 
travelling in that dreary country in the winter. Captain 
King relates that during his stay there, a courier with 
despatches drawn by them, performed a journey of 270 
miles in less than 4 days. The sledges are usually drawn 
by five dogs ; four of them yoked two and two abreast ; 
the foiemost acts as leader to the rest. 

Three or four Nowfoundland dogs yoked to a sledge 
will draw two or three hundred weight of wood piled on 
it, for several miles. They are not attended by a driver 
nor any person to guide them ; but, after having delivered 
their loading, they return immediately to the woods, where 
they are accustomed to be fed. 

A gentleman walking by the side of the river Tyne, and 
observing on the opposite side, a child fall into the water, 
gave notice to his dog, which immediately jumped in, 
swam over, and, catching hold of the child, brought it safe 
to land. Bewick, 

With regard to the horse, the gentleness of his disposi- 
tion and the docility of his temper are so well known that 
it is unnecessary to dwell long on the subject. Mr. Ray 
informs us that he has seen a horse who danced to music, 
who, at the command of his master, affected to be lame, 
who simulated death, lay motionlesss with his limbs 
extended, and allowed himself to be dragged about, till 
some words were pronounced, when he instantly sprang 
upon his feet. 



146 The docility of Animals. 

In all the southern provinces of Africa and Asia, many 
bisons, or the bunched oxen are tamed. Thej become so 
tractable that they are managed with as much ease as our 
horses. The oxen of the Hottentots are favouiite domes- 
tics, companions in amusements, assistants in all laborious 
exertions. 

As their nature is improved by the gentleness of their 
education, by the kind treatment they receive and the 
attention bestowed on them ; they ac<|uire sensibility and 
intelligence, and perform actions whicti-one would not 
expect from them. 

The Hottentots train their oxen to war. These oxen 
are also taught to guard the flocks, which they conduct 
with dexterity, and defend them from the attacks of 
strangers, and of rapacious animals. They are taught to 
distinguish friends from enemies, to understand signals 
and to obey the commands of their master. When pastur- 
ing, at the smallest signal from the keeper, they bring 
back and collect the wandering animals. Smellie. 

The Parrot. The ease with which this bird is taught 
to speak, and the great number of words which it is capa- 
ble of repeating, are no less surprising. We are assured 
by a grave writer that one of these was taught to repeat a 
whole sonnet from Plutarch. 

I have seen a parrot belonging to a distiller, who had 
suffered from an informer v/ho lived opposite him, very 
ridiculously employed. This bird was taught to pronounce 
the ninth commandment — Thou shalt not bear false wit- 
ness against thy neighbor — with a very clear, loud, articu- 
late voice. The bird was placed in a cage over against 
the informer's house, and delighted the whole neighbor- 
hood with its persevering exhortations- Goldsmith. 

Singing birds attempt not to articulate, but their musi- 
cal ears are as delicate and discerning as their voices are 
melodious and delightful. When domesticated, these birds, 
besides their natural note, soon acquire the faculty of 
singing considerable parts of artificial tunes. 

In exhibitions I have seen linnets simulate death, and 
remain perfectly tranquil and unmoved, when small can- 
nons were fired, within an inch of their bodies, from a 
wooden fort. These little creatures have even been taught 
to lay hold of a match and fire the cannons themselves. 

Smellie. 



Salt Mines, 147 



CREATURES CALLED TO PRAISE THEIR MAKER. 

Ye numerous bleating flocks. 

Far spreading o'er the plain, 

With gentle artless voice. 

Assist the humble strain. 
To give you food He bids the field 
Its verdure yield extensive good. 

Ye herds of nobler size. 

Who graze in meads below ; 

Resound your Maker's praise. 

In each responsive low. 
You wait his hand ; the herbage grows. 
The riv'let flows at his command. 

Ye feather'd warblers, come. 

And bring your sweetest lays ; 

And tune the sprightly song 

To your Creator's praise. 
His work you are. He tun'd your voice, 
And you rejoice beneath his care. 

But O, from human tongues 

Should nobler praises flow ; 

And every thankful heart 

W^ith warm devotion glow. 
Your voices raise ye highly blest. 
Above the rest, declare his praise. 

Mrs. Steele, 



JVo. 63. Salt mines of Cracow, in 
Poland. 

These celebrated excavations are about five miles from 
the city of Cracow, in a small town named Wielicza, which 
is entirely undermined, the cavities reaching to a consid- 
erable extent beyond its limits. 

The length of the great mine is 6,000 feet ; its breadth 
2,000; its greatest depth 800; but the veins of salt are 



148 Salt Mines 

not limited to this extent, the depth and length'of theini 
being yet unknown. 

In descending to the bottom, the visitor is surprised to 
find a subterraneous commonwealth, of many families, who 
have their peculiar laws and polit3\ 

Here are likewise public roads and carriages, horses 
being employed. These horses, when once arrived at the 
place of their destination, never more see the light of the 
sun. 

Many of the people seem buried alive in this strange 
abyss, having been born there, and never stirring out. 
Others are not denied opportunities of breathing the fresh 
air in the fields, and enjoying the surrounding prospects. 

In several parts of the mine, huge columns of salt are left 
standing, to support the rock; and these are fancifully 
ornamented. But the most curious object is a statue 
which is considered by these immured inhabitants as the 
actual transmutation of Lot's wife into a pillar of salt. 

The windings of this mine are so numerous and intri- 
cate, that the workmen have frequently lost their way ; 
and several, whose lights have been extinguished, have 
thus perished. 

The number of miners to whom it gives employment, is 
computed at between four and five hundred ; but the 
whole amount of the men employed in it, is about 700. 
About 600,000 quintals of salt are dug annually in the 
mines of Cracow. Clarke, 

Thus cavern'd round, in Cracow's mighty mines 
With crystal walls a gorgeous city shines; 
Scoop'd in the briny rock long streets extend 
Their hoary course, and glittering domes ascend. 

Form'd in pellucid salt, with chisel nice. 
The pale lamp glittering through the sculptur'd ice, 
With wild reverted eyes fair Lotta stands 
And spreads to heaven, in vain, her glassy hands. 

Far gleaming o'er the town, transparent fanes 
Rear their white towers, and wave their golden vanes, 
Long lines of lustres pour their trembling rays. 
And the bright vault resounds with mingled blaze. 

Darwin^ 



Coal Mines, ^49 

JVo. 64. Coal Mines. 

Coals are scattered with a more or less sparing hand, 
over every continent, but there is not any country where 
coal mines are so rich and so frequent as in Great Britain. 
The coal mines of Whitehaven may be considered as 
the most extraordinary in the known world. Their prin- 
cipal entrance is by an opening at the bottom of a hUJ, 
through a long passage hewn in a rock. 

The mines are sunk to the depth of 130 fathoms, and 
are extended under the sea to places where there is, above 
them, sufficient depth of water for ships of large burden. 
These are the deepest coal mines which have hitherto 
been wrought ; and perhaps the miners have not in any 
other part of the globe penetrated to so great a depth 
beneath the surface of the sea. -' 

Various instances have occurred in which the coal has 
been set on fire by the fulminating damp, and has contin- 
ued burning for several months. In some places the fire 
has continued to burn for ages. 

A greater number of mines have, however, been rumed 
by inundations than by fires ; and here that noble inven- 
tion, the fire engine, displays its beneficial effects. 

Four fire engines, belonging to the Whitehaven colliery, 
when all at work, discharge about 1228 gallons of water 
every minute, at 13 strokes; and at the same rate 7,000 
tons every 24 hours. 

Of all the recorded accidents relative to coal mines, 
that of Felling colliery was the most disastrous. The 
establishment it employed under ground consisted of 
about 128 persons. 

On the morning of the 25th of May, 1812, the neigh- 
boring villages were alarmed by a tremendous explosion 
in the colliery. A slight trembling, as from an earth- 
quake, was feit about lialf a mile ; and the noise of the 
explosion was heard three or four miles distance 

Of 128 persons, only 32 were brought to day light; 
29 survived the fatal combustion ; the rest were destroyed. 
Nor from the time of the explosion to the 8th of J uiy 
could any one descend. 
13* 



150 Hush andry favor ahU to Pieiy, 

From which time to the 19th of September, the Keart- 
rending scene of mothers and widows, examining the 
putrid bodies of their sons and husbands, for marks by 
which to identify them, was almost daily renewed. 

At the crane, 21 bodies lay in ghastly confusion ; some 
like mummies, scorched as dry as if they were baked. One 
wanted a head, another an arm. The scene was truly 
frightful 



JVo. 65, Husbandry favorable to Piety. 

No situation in life is so favorable to established habits 
of virtue, and to powerful sentiments ot devotion, as a 
l-esidence in the country, and rural occupations. 

I am not speaking of a condition of peasantry, of which, 
in this country, we know little, who are mere vassals of 
kn absent lord, or the hired laborers of an intendant, and 
who are, therefore, interested in nothing but the regular 
receipt of their daily wages ; but I refer to the honorable 
character of an owner of the soil, whose comforts, whose 
weight in the community, and whose very existence 
depend upon his personal labors, and the regular returns 
of abundance from the soil, which he cultivates. 

No man, one would think, would feel so sensibly his 
immediate dependence upon God, as the husbandman. 
For all his peculiar blessings, he is invited to look imme- 
diately to the bounty of heaven. No secondary cause 
stands between him and his Maker. 

To him are essential the regular succession of the 
seasons, and the timely fall of the rain, the genial warmth 
of the sun, the sure productiveness of the soil, and the 
certain operations of those laws of nature, which must 
appear to him nothing less, than the varied exertions of 
omnipresent energy. 

In the country, we seem to stand in the midst of the 
great theatre of God's power, and we feel an unusual 
proximity to our Creator. His blue and tranquil sky 
spreads itself over our heads, and we acknowledge the 
intrusion of no secondary agent in unfolding this vast 



Seed time and harvest i 5i 

expanse. Nothing but omnipotence can work up the 
dark horrors of the tempest, dart the flashes of the light- 
ning, and roll the long-resounding rumour of the thunder. 

The breeze wafts to his senses the odors of God's 
beneficence; the voice of God's power is heard in the 
rustling of the forest and the varied forms of life, activity 
and pleasure, which he observes at every step in the fields, 
lead him irresistibly, one would think, to the source of 
being, and beauty, and joy. 

How auspicious such a life to the noble sentiments of 
devotion ! Besides, the situation of the husbandman is 
peculiarly favorable to purity and simplicity of moral 
sentiment. He is brought acquainted, chiefly, with the 
real and native wants of mankind- Employed solely in 
bringing food out of the earth, he is not liable to be 
fascinated with the fictitious pleasures, the unnatural 
wants, the fashionable follies and tyrannical vices of more 
busy and splendid life. 

Still more favorable to the religious character of the 
husbandman is the circumstance, that, from the nature of 
agricultural pursuits, they do not so completely engross 
the attention, as other occupations. They leave much 
time for contemplation, for reading, and intellectual 
pleasures ; and these are peculiarly grateful to the resi- 
dent in the country. 

Especially does the institution of the sabbath discover all 
its value to the tiller of the earth, whose fatigue it solaces, 
whose hard labors it interrupts, and who feels, on that day, 
the worth of his moral nature, which cannot be understood 
by the busy man, who considers the repose of this day as 
interfering with his hopes of gain, or professional employ- 
ments. I^ then, this institution is of any moral and reli- 
gious value, it is to the country we must look for the con- 
tinuance of that respect and observance, which it merits-. 

Buckminslkr, 



SEED TIME AND HARVEST. 

The rising morn, the closing day. 
Repeat thy praise with grat ful voice; 
Both, bounteous Lord ! thy power display, 
And laden with thy gifts rejoice* 



1 52 Eulogium on William Penn. 

Earth's wide extended, varying scenes 
Ail smiling round, thy bounty show ; 
From seas or clouds, tull magazines, 
Thy rich diffusive blessings flow. 

Now earth receives the precious seed, 
Which thy indulgent hand prepares ; 
And nourishes the future bread. 
And answers all the sower's cares. 

Thy sweet refreshing showers attend, 
And through the ridges gently flow, 
Soft on the springing corn descend, 
And thy kind blessing makes it grow. 

Thy goodness crowns the circling year, 
Thy paths drop fatness all around ; 
The barren wilds thy praise declare. 
And echoing hills return the sound. 

- Here spreading flocks adorn the plain ; 
There plenty every charm displays ; 
Thy bounty clothes each lovely scene, 
And joyful nature shouts thy praise. 

Mrs. Steele, 



JVo. 6 6. Eulogium on William Penn. 

William Penn stands the first among the lawgivers 
whose names and deeds are recorded in history. Shall 
we compare with him Lycurgus, Solon, Romulus, those 
founders of military commonwealths, who organized their 
citizens in dreadful array against the rest of their species, 
taught them to consider their fellow men as barbarians, 
and themselves as alone worthy to rule over the earth r 

What benefit did mankind derive from their boasted 
institutions ? Interrogate the shades of those who fell in 
the mighty contests between Athens and Lacedsemon, 
between Carthage and Rome, and between Rome and the 
rest of the universe. 



Eulogium on miliam Penn, 153 

But see our William Penn, with weaponless hands, sit- 
ting down peaceably with his followers in the midst ot 
savlge natior.s, whose only occupation was shedding the 
blood of their fellow men, disarming them by his justice, 
and teaching them, for the first time, to view a stranger 
without distrust. . , 

See them bury their tomahawks in his presence, so deep 
that man shall never be able to find them again. See them 
under the shade of the thick groves of Coaquannock 
extend the bright chain of friendship, and solemnly promise 
to preserve it as long as the sun and moon shall endure. 

See him then with his companions establishing his com- 
monwealth on the sole basis of religion, morality and uni- 
versal love, and adopting, as the fundamental maxims ot 
his a-overnment, the rule handed down to us from Heaven, 
« Glory to God on high, and on earth peace, and good will 

to all men." i- ., 4-u +^ 

Here was a spectacle for the potentates of the earth to 
look upon, an example for them to imitate. But the poten- 
tates of the earth did not see, or if they saw, they turned 
away their eyes from the sight; they did not hear, or it 
they heard, they shut their ears against the voice whicH 
called out to them from the wilderness, 

Learn justice by admonition, and do not contemn the gods. 

The character of William Penn alone sheds a never 
fading lustre upon our history. No other state in this 
union can boast of such an illustrious founder ; none began 
their social career under auspices so honorable to human- 
ity. Every trait of the life of that great man, every fact 
and anecdote of those golden times will be sought for by 
our descendants with avidity, and will furnish many an 
interesting subject for the fancy of the novelist, and the 

enthusiasm of the poet." 

Jjuponceau, 

This Eulogium is not only honorable to the character of 
William Penn, but to the head and the heart of the Ora- 
tor. When such men as Mr. Duponceau bestow their 
praises on a pacific Legislator in preference to all of the 
warring tribe, those who have nothing but fighting fame to 



154 Foem on Humanity. 

rely on, may consider their glory as on the decliney their 
sun as going down to rise no more. 



POEM ON HUMANITY. 

At length bloom'd forth, diffusing all their charms, 

The arts of peace more strong than those ot arms ; 

Like mists dispersing at the dawn of day, 

Barbarick ignorance refin'd away. 

The sword was sheath'd, the trumpet heard no more, 

And the lyre tried its humanizing power ; 

Religion came the idol to explode, 

And rearVl her alter to the living God. 

In place of Deities, with frowns pourtray'd, 

Cherubs appeared with heaven-born smiles arrayed. 

Hence wise, and potent, awful, and humane. 

The Christian system holds the guiding rein ; 

Prop of HUMANITY, and seen from far. 

Bright as the lustre of the morning star. 

The good man spoke, applauding thousands bow'd, 
The Hero triumph'd, and the Christian glow'd, 
Unnumber'd hearts by great example fir'd 
Bent to the law humanity required ; 
Unnumber'd manacles that moment broke, 
Unnumber'd slaves rove loosen'd from the yoke, 
Unnumber'd hands were folded up in air, 
Unnumber'd voices breath'd a grateful prayer, 
Unnumber'd eyes, late bath'd in tears of wo. 
Ah, blissful change ! with tears of joy o'erflow: 
From God the spark began, to man it came. 
Till all perceiving, all partook the flame ; 
Heaven's fire electrick, as one touch'd the ball, 
It struck a second till it spread to all. 

Fratt 



2'he battle of Borodino. 155 

JVb. 67. The battle of BorodiQO. 

" See how these Christians love one another." Pagans. 

The night passed slowly over the wakeful heads of the 
impatient combatants. The morning of the 7th of Septem- 
ber at length broke, and thousands beheld the dawn for 
the last time. 'I he moment was arrived when the dread- 
ful discharge of two thousand cannon was to break the 
silence of expectation, and arouse at once all the horrors 
of war. 

General as the attack seemed, the corps of Prince 
Bagration had to sustain the accumulating weight of nearly- 
half the French army ; and the determination shown by 
its cavalry was so desperate, that they charged even up to 
the very mouths of the Russian guns. \^ hole regiments 
of them, both horses and men, were swept down by the can- 
non shot; and all along the front of Bagration's line arose 
a breast work of dead and dying. 

Napoleon ordered up fifty additional piecies of artillery, 
and a fresh division of infantry, with several regiments of 
dragoons. This new force rushed on over the bodies of 
their fallen countrjmien and did not allow themselves to 
be checked until they reached the parapets of the Russian 
works. Their vigorous onset overturned with fierce 
slaughter every thing that opposed them, and obliged 
Bagration to fall back nearer to the second line of the 
army. 

The rage of battle at this crisis was not to be described. 
The thunder of a thousand pieces of artillery was answer- 
ed by the discharge of an equal number on the part of the 
Russians. A veil of smoke shut out the combatants from 
the sun, and left them no other light to pursue the work 
of death than the flashes of musketry, which blazed in 
every direction. 

The sabres of 40,000 dragoons met each other, and 
clashed in the horrid gloom ; and the bristling points of 
countless bayonets, bursting through the rolling vapour, 
strewed the earth with heaps of slain. 

Such was the scene for an extent of many wersts, and the 
dreadful contest continued without cessation until the 



156 _ Ode on Peace, 



darkness of the night. Thus closed that memorable day;! 
and with it terminated the lives of EiCrHXY thousand 
human beings. The horses which laj on the ground from 
right to left, numbered full 25,000. 

The next day, says Labaume, very early in the morn- 
ing, we returned to the field of battle. In the space of a 
square league almost every spot ivas covered with the killed 
and wounded. On many places the bursting of the shells 
had promiscuously heaped together men and horses. 

But the most horrid spectacle was the interior of the 
ravines; almost all the wounded who were able to drag 
themselves along had taken refuge there, to avoid the shot. 
These miserable wretches heaped one upon another, and 
almost suffocated with blood, uttering the most dreadful 
groans, and invoking death with piercing cries, eagerly 
besought us to put an end to their torments. 

See how these Christians murder one another ! 



ODE ON PEACE. 

Weary of War's destrucfive rage. 

And sick'ning o'er the bloody strife 
That marks a cruel, guilty age. 
And long shall stain th' historic page. 
Humanity indignant turns. 
And Piety in ashes mourns 
The barb'rous waste of human life. 

ye ! who thrive on mortal gore. 

Go, follow in the victor's train ; 

The purple field of death explore. 

And feast upon the thousands slain. 
Go, hear the limbless suff'rers' moan. 
The shriek of pain, the dying groan ; 
While black Revenge breathes out its savage yell 
To tunes of martial joy, and blasphemies of hell. 

Go, trace the track of armies through the plains 
Where cheerful Labour smil'd, with plenty crown'd ; 






Ode on Peace. 157 

No harvest ripens, and no herd remains, 

But one wide wreck of ruin spreads around. 
And lust and plunder mark their dreadful way. 
With fearful pomp deriding wild dismay. 
While Pity views with streaming eye, 
Where cities proud in ashes lie. 
And crowds in vain for refuge fly. 
And widows raise their mournful cry. 
And famish'd age and infants die ; 
Ambition mocks their misery. 
And triumphs o'er his prey. 

Ah ! where is now the God of love ? 

The genius of the Gospel where ? 
In vain his laws their crimes reprove. 

In vain his cross their banners bear. 
Religion flies the cruel race. 

Who murder in her peaceful name ; 
Infuriate demons seize her place. 

And in her mask secure their aiga. 

From sin the horrid discord rose. 
That made of fellow -creatures foes; 
Thus Cain, by hellish wrath inspir'd 
His meeker brother's blood requir'd. 

And murder first began : 
And envy, pride, and malice still 
The restless human spirit fill 
With hatred to the Almighty will. 

And cruelty to man. 
The fury of man's wrath to cool. 

The savage heart to tame, 
God sends him to afiliction's school. 

And puts his pride to shame. 
Thus nations madly battle urge. 

And still their woes increase. 
Till their own choice becomes their scourge. 
And, trembling on destruction's verge. 

They pant at last for peace. 
14 



158 Ode on Peace. 

Hail, sacred Peace ! thou com'st to heal 
The woes exhausted nations feel. 
Thou bringest Plenty in thy train. 
To cheer the fainting poor again. 
Commerce, unbound by thee, shall pour 
Earth's varied gifts on ev'ry shore ; 
And active Industry resume 
The spade, the plough, the forge, the loom : 
"While Art ingenious adds new means 
In curious skill, and vast machines. 
Thou dost sweet Liberty restore. 
And open Mis'ry's dungeon door : 
Nor longer shall a Tyrant's chain 
The sympathy of soul restrain. 
But fathers, friends, and brothers, meet again. 

Compassionate Author of peace ! 

Around the wide world let it flow. 
That cruel contention may cease. 

And friendship and love dwell below. 
Oh ! soon may the promise take place. 

The dawn of Immanuel's reign, 
And set up the Kingdom of Grace, 

Where discord no more shall remain ! 

Instead of the tnimpet of war. 

Let mercy's sweet message be heard, 
And nations now scatter'd afar. 

Unite in the bands of thy word ', 
Instead of the weapons of Death, 

May soldiers of Jesus, with love. 
Contend for their God, and their Faith, 

And win the bright kingdom above ! 

Instead of the sword and the spear. 

The plough and the pruner restore. 
That herbage and fruits may appear 

On fields that were cover'd with gore^ 
No more may Ambition arise. 

To kindle the world to a flame ; 
But Mercv come down froih the skies, 

An^ peace to all nations 'proclaim! 

Herald of Peace. 



The Whirlpool 159 

JVo. 68. The Whirlpool. 

It is in the ocean that whirlpools are peculiarly danger- 
ous, where the tides are violent and the tempests fierce. 
To mention only one, that called the Maelstrom, upon the 
coasts of Norway, which is considered as the most dread- 
ful and voracious in the world. 

The name it has received from the natives, signifies the 
navel of the sea, since they suppose that a great share of 
the water of the sea is sucked up and discharged by its 
vortex. The body of waters that forms this whirlpool is 
extended in a circle about thirteen miles in circumference. 

In the midst of this, stands a rock, against which the 
tide, in its ebb, is dashed with inconceivable fury. At 
this time it instantly swallows up all things that come 
within the sphere of its violence, trees, timber and ship- 
ping. No skill of the mariner, nor strength of rowing can 
work an escape. 

The sailor at the helm finds the ship at first go in a 
current opposite to his intention^;. His vessel's motion, 
though slow in the beginning, becomes every momeat 
more rapid. 

It goes round in circles, still tiarrower and narrower 
till at last it is dashed against the rocks, and instantly 
disappears. Nor is it seen again for six hours, till the tide 
flowing, it is vomited forth with the same violence with 
which it was drawil in. 

The noise of this dreadful vortex still further con- 
tributes to increase its terror, which, with the dashing of 
the waters, and the dreadful valley, if it may be so called, 
caused by their circulation, makes one of the most tremen- 
dous objects in nature. Goldsmith* 

Even animals which have come too near the vortex, 
have expressed the utmost terror, when they have found 
the stream irresistible. Whales are frequently carried 
away, and the moment they feel the force of the water, 
they struggle against it with all their might, howling and 
bellowing in a frightful manner. 

Guthrie* 



160 • TheMaelsirem. 



THE MAELSTROM. 



Near Moskoe isle and the Norwegian shores, 

A vast, terrific Whirlpool yawns and roars ; 

Its thunders range for many a league around 

And say to men — Keep ye on distant ground J 

But if incautious, or by sad surprise, 

A boat or ship — how great soe'er the size 

Is cauffht within the vortex, four miles wide. 

The wnirling wave becomes its fatal guide. 

The frightened crew exert their powers in vain ; 

Nor strength nor skill their safety can obtain. 

At first, more slow they move, in circles large. 

And fondly hope and strive for their discharge 

From this dread scene : Alas ! it is too late. 

The lessening circles hurry on their fate ; 

While round and round they sail, they draw more near 

The central gulph, where they must disappear ; 

Here down they 're whirPd to depths unknown to men. 

No more to see the light of day again. 

In view of such a scene, w^iat horrors rise ! 
Wiiat mortal could refrain from ardent cries 
To Him who rules, and who alone can save. 
Or raise the dead from this horrific grave ! 

But lo ! wliat moral Whirlpools sin has raised. 
By far more dreadful, though by Folly praised ! 
The Whirlpool Dissipation bears along 
On its seductive waves, a numerous throng. 
In this short course to wo, those in the rear. 
See those in front ingulph'd each passing year; 
Yet with these premonitions full in view. 
Heedless, unawed, their course they still pursue ; — 
They hope retreat, ere they shall lose their breath. 
But habit binds them o'er to vice and death. 

See Martial Whirlpools too, of wondrous fame. 
The curse of nations and their rulers' shame,-T- 
Who, in pretence of seeking public good. 
Resort to war, and deluge states in blood ! 
Such dire commotions, form'd by human pride. 



i 



1 



Abolition of Female Infanticide, 161 

Whelm men bj myriads in their whirling tide,— 
Involve whole countries in a flood of wo, 
And deal destruction both to friend and foe : 
Yet this infernal policy of state. 
Exalts the robber, styles the murderer " Great." 

Repository. 



JVo. 69. Abolition of Female Infanticide. 

•' It appears that Col. Walker went, in the year 1801, as 
political resident to Guzerat, where he found the horrid 
practice of murdering female children was common, 

"The Colonel having obtained accurate information con- 
cerning the facts, entered into a correspondence with the 
chiefs, reasoning with them on the guilt of this horrid 
practice. They gravely defended it, especially on the 
score of antiquity, pretending that it had been perpetuated 
for 5000 years. At length, however, they gave way, and 
signed an engagement to relinquish the practice forever. 

"Much laudable care was taken by Mr. Duncan, the 
governor of Bombay, to render this engagement effectual ; 
and it is hoped that the abolition not only there but in the 
other parts of India will become general. The good effects 
©f this humane interference were evident in humanizing 
the character of the Jarejahs. Much gratitude was excit- 
ed towards Colonel Walker. 

" Female infants, w ho had been preserved by his philan- 
throphic exertions, were presented to him at his court by 
the parents who gloried in their preservation and dotea 
upon them with fondness, — and the female children of 
some families were taught, as the first articulate sounds, to 
say Baker Saheb umnefi Jee ivariaJ that is, Colonel 
Walker saved me." 

REMARKS. 

' These poor benighted heathens had been in the habit of 
killing many of their female children as soon as they were 
born. This they did through the influence of custom, and 
probably without either malignity or remorse. 
The more enlightened people called Christians, do not 
14* 



l62 Abolition of Female Infanticide. 

thus destroy their female infants. The very thought of 
doing this would fill them with horror. Thej have how- 
ever another custom which is esteemed very honourable. 
They train up many of their male children in habits of 
vice, that they may become heroic and dexterous man-kill- 
ers. 

Christians ! will you here pause a moment, and compare 
the custom of Heathen "infanticide,''^ with your custom of 
CJiristian homicide, and then say which is the most heath- 
enish and most inhuman. 

The Heathen chiefs defended their custom on the " score 
of antiquity." Christians, with equal wisdom and proprie- 
ty, defends theirs on the same gound. 

Col. Walker was, however, successful in reasoning with 
the Heathen chiefs on the immorality of infanticide and in 
favor of its abolition. If he be still living let him next 
try his skill with the chiefs of Christendom, " reasoning 
with them on the guilt of the" more " horrid practice" of 
training up children to the business of human butchery. 

I indeed fear that he would find greater difficulty in 
converting these chiefs than he did in converting those of 
Guzerat. But should he succeed, thousands of European 
boys may unite with the girls of India, and say, " Col. 
Walker saved me." 

The fact that Col. Walker was successful in persuading 
the nations of India to relinquish a custom which in their 
opinion had been "perpetuated for 5000 years" — and 
which of course was revered for its antiquity, affords ground 
of hope that all sanguinary customs may be abolished by 
the force of reasoning and the progress of light. 

The antiquity of the custom is the resort of Christians 
in defending war. " It has, say they, been a custom in all 
ages :" hence they infer its necessity, its lawfulness, and 
the certainty that it will be continued. But such inferen- 
ces are fallacious and delusive. 

Depraved as mankind are— attached as they are to he- 
reditary customs, they are still capable of reasoning, of re- 
flecting, of receiving light, and of changing their opinions ; 
and it is impossible for good rulers to make war on their 
fellow men with a full conviction of the enormities and 
horrors of the custom. 



Remarkable Rivers. I6§ 

"The good eifects of Col. Walker's interference were 
evident in humanizing the character of the Jarejahs." If 
such were the effects on the heathen of abolishing " infan- 
ticide," what would be the effects on mankind in general 
of abolishing homicide and waT, 



JVo. 70, Remakable Rivers. 

The Amazon in South America is said to be the largest 
of all the known rivers on this globe. It descends from 
the Andes ; runs a course of about 3,500 miles ; receives 
about 200 other rivers on its way to the ocean ; and is 150 
miles wide at its mouth. 

The La Plata is also a river of South America. In 
length, it is said to exceed eight hundred leagues ; and its 
mouth nearly sixty leagues in breadth, its current where 
it falls into the sea, is so rapid, that the water is fresh for 
some leagues distant from its mouth. 

The Mississippi is the largest river in the United States. 
Its whole length is about 3000 miles, and it empties into 
the gulf of Mexico by several mouths. 

The St. Lawrence has its rise within 30 or 40 miles of 
the Mississippi, and after passing through the great 
lakes, Superior, Huron, Erie and Ontario, empties itself 
into the Gulf of St. Lawrence, by a mouth 90 miles in 
width. 

The Volga is supposed to be the largest river in Europe^ 
being above 2000 miles in length. Having passed through 
the Russian territories, it enters Asia, and empties itself 
into the Caspian sea. 

The Ganges is one of the noblest rivers of Asia. It ris- 
es in the kingdom of Thibet, discharges its waters in the 
Gulph of Bengal, and exceeds 1400 miles in length. On 
certain festivals, upwards of a hundred thousand persons 
assemble to bathe in its waters. 

The Nile is a remarkable river of Africa. In its extent 
it is supposed to exceed 2000 miles. It takes its rise in 
Ethiopia, and flows into the Mediterranean sea by seven 
channels— two only of which are at present navigable. 

Several author^. 



" 1 



364 Remarkable Rivers. 

Tell by what paths, what subterraneous ways, 
Back to the fountain's head the sea conveys, 
The refluent rivers and the land repays ? 
Tell what superior, what controlling cause 
Makes waters, in contempt of nature'^s laws 
Climb up, and gain th' aspiring mountain's height 
Swift and forgetful of their native weight ? 
"What happy works, what engines under ground. 
What instruments of curious art are found. 
Which must with everlasting labor play. 
Back to their springs the rivers to convey. 
And keep their correspoudence with the sea ? 

Blackmore. 



J 



Thy providence fixM the stream and its source ; 
The sea knows its bounds, the rivers their course. 
Convey'd through dark channels, springs rise on the hills, 
They burst in the fountains, they fall in the rills. 

The beasts of the wild, their forest forsake, 

The herd quit the field, to drink of the lake ; 

On trees crown'd with blossoms, its margin along. 

Bird's warbling sweet music, praise God in their song. 

Descending on hills, clouds plenteousness pour; 

All nature revives, earth smiles in the shower : 

A garip^ent of verdure apparels the plain. 

Fruits swell in the garden, fields wave with their grain. 

Nor here only. Lord, thy might we adore. 
The sea owns thy hand, thy wisdom and power ; 
There tribes without number,, thy creatures resort ; 
Leviathans gambol, and whales take their sport. 

There ships spread their sails, the surface to sweep ; 
There fish nimbly glide, copceal'd in the deep : 
They all know their season, as seasons arise ; 
And tribes, which tliy bounty has made, it supplieg* 

Thy will and thy word enclue them with breath ; 
Consum'd by thy blast, th^-y shrink into death ; 
Restor'd at thy pleasure, Siew beings appear. 
To people the waters, the earth and the air. 

Vincent' 



Poetic Addresses to Animals. 165 

JV(0. 71. Poetic addresses to Animals, 

TO THE CRICKET. 

Little Croaker of the hearth, 
I hear thy melancholy mirth, 
To me thou seem'st to say— 
I now supply the Robin's song. 
And all the summer painted throng. 
Whose wings have flown away. 

My bagpipe, in the chimney side. 
Shall strains of music still provide, 
Though thou art all unknown ; 

save me from the howling storm. 
And only keep the Minstrel warm, 
Thy summer friends have flown. 

When cold and fierce December stares. 
And through his icy mantle glares, 
Let me this warmth enjoy — 
'Tis all the boon I ask of men- 
Grant me this humble suit, and then 
My music I'll employ. 

While seated by the social fire, 

1 will not sing of battles dire. 
In strains of Walter Scott ; 
Of heroes on the bloody plain. 

Who in the glorious strife were slain, 
Left on that field to rot. 

I will not sing in Byron's lays. 

Whom critics oft have deign'd to praise, 

His glory is a dream — 

I, a poor Minstrel of the wood. 

And with no human powers endued, 

Alas, cannot blaspheme ! 

I cannot in this tempest gust. 
Sing like the Poet Moore, of lustj 
To charm, this world below ; 



166 Poetic Addresses to Animals, 

If strong temptation rules the hour. 
Thank heav'n that I have not the pow'r 
To brave my Maker so. 

Yet I can chirp while life remains. 

Such poor, such humble, woodland strains^ 

As heav'n has taught to me ; 

While seated by thy social fire, 

O let me know, ere I retire, 

My insect muse is free. 

Dear insect hear me — chirp along, 
From morn to eve, thy hum drum song^ 
Without my frowning, free ; 
And neither Scott, or Byron, Moore, 
Shall e'er such Minstrel strains restore, 
As I should lose by thee. 

Give me thy bagpipe, insect wild, 

Untam'd, for thou art nature's child, 

Thatunharmonious line ; 

And may I never dare to lose. 

Amidst the wanderings of my muse, 

A God of power divine. *3, 

TO THE ROBIN, 

Whose nest had been taken out of the author's garden, where it had 
long been accustomed to build. 

Spare thy reproach, thou more than tongue 
That little lively eye, 
It was not 1 that stole thy young ; 
Indeed it was not L 

With pleasure equal to thine own 
I've watch'd thy tender brood ; 
And mark'd how fondly thou hast flown 
To bear them daily food. 

Ah, base was he, whose hand could stain 
Fair hospitality, ^ . 

With act so foul as thus to pain 
An harmless guest like thee. 



Poetic Addresses to Animals, I6t 

Pursue me not from spray to spray : 
How shall I teach my tongue 
Some sound that may to thee convey, 
/ did not do thee wrong ? 

Oh that I knew, sweet innocent, 
The language of thy kind. 
Or could some lucid sign invent 
Fitting thy feeble mind ! 

This spot indignant do not quit. 
Thy confidence replace, 
And here with generous trust commit 
Once more thy tender race. 

For here thy young have oft before 
Securely spread the wing : 
Oh grant my shades one trial more. 
Here pass one other spring. 

Meanwhile this comfort I will take. 
Not long thy wees g' all last. 
All hearts but man's soon cease to ache. 
Thy griefs shall soon be past 

Fawcett* 

TO A ROBIN, 
Frightened from its K6st Ixy the author's approach. 

Fond, timid creature ! fear not me ; 
Think not I ir^ean to iiij\;.re thee ; 
I am not cenie with hard intent 
To steal the treasure heav'n hath sent 

Hovering with fond anxiety 
Around thy iiniiedg'd family. 
Fearful and tender as thou art 
Each step alarms thy failing heart ! 

But let those fluttering plumes lie still. 
Those needless terrors cease to feel ! 
Why hop so fast from bough to bough ? 
Thou hear'st no hostile^ footstep now. 



168 Poetic Addresses to JlnimaU. 

Compose thj feathers, ease thy fear 
No cruel purpose brought me here : 
I came not rudely to invade 
The little dwelling thou hast made — 
To hurt thy fair domestic peace. 
And wound parental tenderness. 

When cheerless wintry scenes appear 
Thy sprightly song well -pleased we hear, 
And ne that robs thee of thy young 
But ill repays that sprightly song. 

Kindlieav'n protect thy tender brood 
Secret and safe be their abode ; 
Let no malign, exploring eye 
Thy little tenement descry. 

Still may thy fond assiduous care 

Thine oKsprinff unmolested rear : 

Teach them, like thee, to spread the wing, 

And teaeh them too, like thee, to sing. 

And may each pure felicity 

That birds can feel, be felt by thee. 



INVITATION TO THE BEE. 

Child of patient industry. 
Little active busy Bee, 
Thou art out at early morn. 
Just as the opening flowers are born. 
Among the green and grassy meads, 
Where the cowslips hang their heads ; 
Or by hedge-rows, while the dew 
Glitters on the harebell blue. 

Then on eager wing art flown 
To thymy hillocks on the dawn ; 
Or to revel on the broom. 
Or suck the clover's crimson bloom ; 
Murmuring still, thou busy Bee, 
Thy little ode to industry. 



Ibid* 



Poetic Addresses to Animals. 469 

Go while summer suns are bright, 
Take at large thy wandering flight ; 
Go and load thy tiny feet 
With every rich and various sweet. 

But when the meadows shall be mown 
And summer's garlands overblown ; 
Then come, thou little busy Bee, 
And let thy homestead be witb me. 

Yet fear not when the tempests come 
And drive thee to thy waxen home. 
That I shall then most treacherously 
For thy honey murder thee. 

Charlotte Smith 

THE HEDGEHOG, 
Seen in a frequented path. 

Wherefore should man or thoughtless boy 

Thy quiet, harmless life destroy. 

Innoxious urchin ? — for thy food 

Is but the beetle and the fly. 

And all thy harmless luxury 

The swarming insects of the wood. 

Should man to whom his God has given 
Reason^ the brightest ray of heaven. 
Delight to hurt in senseless mirth 
Inferior animals ? — and dare 
To use his power in waging war 
Against his brethren of the earth ? 

Ibid, 



THE SQ,UIRREL. 

The Squirrel with aspiring mind, 
Disdains to be to earth confin'd. 

But mounts aloft in air ; 
The pine-trees giddiest height he climbs, 
Or scales the beach-tree's loftiest limbs. 

And builds his castle there 
45 



170 > Poetic Addresses to Animals. 

Within some old fantastic tree. 
Where time has worn a cavity 

His winter food is stor'd ; 
/ The cone beset with manj a scale. 
The chesnut in its coat of mail. 

Or nuts complete his hoard. 

Soft is his shining auburn coat. 
As ermine white his downy throat. 

Intelligent his mien ; 
With feathery tail and ears alert. 
And little paws as hands expert. 

And eyes so black and keen. 

Soaring above the earth-born herd 
Of beasts, he emulates the bird. 

Yet feels no want of wings ; 
Exactly pois'd, he dares to launch 
In air, and bounds from branch to branch 

With swift elastic springs. 

And thus the man of mental worth 
May rise above the humblest birth. 

And adverse fate control ; 
If to the upright heart be join'd 
The active, persevering mind. 

And firm, unshaken soul. 



ON SCARING SOME WATER FOWL. 

Why, ye tenants of the lake. 
For me your wat'ry haunts forsake ? 
Tell me, fellow creatures, why 
At my presence thus you fly ? 

Conscious, blushing for our race. 
Soon, too soon, your fears I trace, 
Man, your proud usurping foe — 
Would-be lord of all below — 
Plumes himself in Freedom's pride,, 
Tyrant stern to all beside. 



Ibid. 



Poetic Addresses to Animals. HI 

The eagle from his cliffy brow. 

Marking you his prey below. 

In his breast no pity dwells. 

Strong necessity impels. 

But man to whom alone is given 

A ray direct from pitying Heaven, 

Glories in his heart humane, 

And creatures for his pleasure slain ! 

In these savage liquid plains. 
Only known to wandering swains. 
Where the mossy rivulet strays, 
Far from human haunts and ways ; 
All on Nature you depend. 
And life's poor season peaceful spencf 

Or if man's superior might. 
Dare invade your native right. 
On the lofty ether borne 
Man with all his powers you scorn > 
Swiftly seek on clanging wings, 
Other lakes and other springs. 
And the foe you cannot brave. 
Scorn at least to be his slave. 



Burn$i 



THE HUMMING BI^ID. 

Minutest of the feather'd kind. 
Possessing every charm combin'd, 
Nature in forming thee design'd 

That thou should'st be 
A proof within how little space. 
She can comprise such perfect grace. 
Rendering thy lovely fairy race 

Beauty's epitome. 

Those burnish'd colours to bestow. 
Her pencil in the heavenly bow 
She dipp'd, and made thy plumes to glow 
With every hue 



172 Poetic Addresses^ to Animals. 

That in the dancing sunbeam plays > 
And with the ruby's vivid blaze. 
Mingled the emerald's lucid rays 
With halcyon blue. 

Then placed thee under genial skies. 
Where flowers and shrubs spontaneous ris^e. 
With" richer fragrance, bolder dyes. 

By her endued ; 
And bade thee pass thy happy hours 
In tamarind shades, and palmy bowers.. 
Extracting from unfailing flowers 

Ambrosial food. 

There, lovely Bee-bird ! mayst thou rove 
Through spicy vale and citron grove, 
And woo, and win thy fluttering love 

With plume so bright ; 
There rapid fly, more heard than seen. 
Mid orange boughs of polish'd green, 
With glowing fruit, and flowers between 

Of purest white. 

There feed, and take thy balmy rest. 
There weave thy little cotton nest. 
And may no cruel hand molest 

Thy timid bride | 
Nor those bright changeful plumes of thine, 
Be offer'd on the unfeeling shrine, 
Where some dark beauty loves to shine, 
In gaudy pride^ 

Nor may her sable lover's care 

Add to the baubles in her hair 

Thy dazzling feathers, rich and rare ; 

And thou poor bird. 
For this inhuman purpose bleed ; 
While gentle hearts abhor the deed. 
And Mercy's trembling voice may plead, 

But plead unheard. 



Telemachus. .173 

Such triflers should be taught to know, 
Not all the hues thy plumes can show. 
Become them like the conscious glow 

Of modesty : 
And that not half so lovely seems 
The ray that from the diamond gleams. 
As the pure gem that trembling beams 

In Pity's eye. 

Smithes Conversations* 



jyj, 72. Telemachus ; or the Abolition 
of the Gladiatorial Spectacles. 

* Nothing, says Erasmus, can be more cruel and savage 
than single combats, and the butchery of gladiatorial spec- 
tacles ; and yet our forefathers were so delighted with the 
sight, that an example, the basest of all left us by the 
Heathens, took such firm hold of the Christians, especial- 
ly in the city of Rome, that they have not been able at 
this day to divest themselves entirely of this relique of 
[paganism. 

* The abolition of that species of combat, which they dis- 
tinguish by the name of tripartite, we owe to one Telema- 
chus. This good man left the east and came to Rome ; 
where, entering the theatre, and seeing armed men rushing 
violently, with an intent to kill each other, he leaped into 
the midst of them, exclaiiiung,— " What are you doing, 
brothers ? Why do you run headlong, like two wild beasts, 
to each others destruction V* 

' In short while the good natured man was humanely 
endeavouring to save the lives of the combatants, he lost 
his own ; for the people stoned him to death : So highly 
did the unthinking rabble value this cruel diversion, which 
afforded an object to si are at, 

' What was the cons«-quence ? The Emperor Honorius, 
as soon as he heard of' the transaction, issued orders to 
abolish the exhibition of gladiatorial combats. 

* Xow reflect a moment with me, how base an amuse- 
ment this was, l\ow many thousand lives were lost by it ; 

15* 



174 Telemachiis; 

and you will immediately see how much the #orld is in-f 
debted to the death of one individual. For a deed like 
this, Telemachus was deservedly canonized. 

* Put how much more richly would that man deserve 
this honor, who should put an end to the conflicts of the 
great potentates, who lord it over this suffering world ?' 

REFLECTIONS. 

1st. What intelligent Christian does not now look back 
with amazement and hbrror on the gladiatorial exhibitions, 
in which men murdered one another to make sport for the 
multitude ! What an influence must such a custom have 
had on the minds and morals of the Romans ? What bar- 
barians must the inhabitants of Rome have been, who 
could " delight" in such murderous amusements ! 

£d. Will not Christians of future ages, in like manner, 
review with horror the history of our times ! People of 
the present day have eyes to see, in some particulars, the 
barbarity of former ages ; but are they not generally as 
blind as the Romans were to the inhumanity of their own 
customs ? What better than gladiators are the armies of 
Christian nations who meet each other in a field of battle 
for mutual murder 1 

3d. How much more to be admired is the heroism and 
intrepidity of Telemachus, who exposed his own life in a 
benevolent attempt to put an end to a sanguinary custom, 
than that of a military butcher, who murders for fame, or 
who will hire himself out for money as a mankiller ! 

4th. The fact that the gladiatorial spectacles have lost 
their popularity and become abhorrent to Christians, af- 
fords ground of assurance that other sanguinary customs 
may be rendered disreputable, and of course be abolished. 

5th. It is a point which demands the most serious con- 
sideration of Christians and of philanthropists, whether 
. the popular modes of mimicking sanguinary combats have 
not an influence on the human character similar to that of 
^he gladiatorial exhibitions. 

If familiarity with sanguinary combats will harden the 
heart, or diminish the kind sympathies of the soul, and 
render cruelty a sport, — what reason can be given why 
sportive imitations of cruelty should not gradually callous 



Meteors, 175 

the mind and prepare young people to perpetrate the deeds 
which have been thus familiarized ? 

When they have been long accustomed to seeing murder- 
ous heroism represented as the glory of human nature, can 
it be wonderful if they should have imbibed its spirit? 
The savage who has been taught from his infancy, that re- 
venge is glory, will delight and glory in revenge ; and a 
similar education will have a similar effect on those who 
are called civilized. 

Is it not then to be suspected that there are now more 
of the " reliques of paganism" and of a savage state still 
popular in Christendom, than is generally supposed ? 



LINES ADDRESSED TO LORD CHANCELLOR KINd. 

'Tis not the splendor of the place. 
The gilded coach, the purse, the mace. 
And all the pompous train of state. 
That make you happy, make you great : 
But when mankind you strive to bless, 
With all the talents you possess ; 
When all the joys you can receive 
Flow from the benefits you give : 
This takes the heart, this conquers spite, 
And makes the heavy burden light ; 
True pleasure, rightly understood. 
Is only labor to do good. 

Elegant Extracts, 



JVo. 73. Meteors. 

On the 21st of March, 1676, two hours after sunset, ail 
extraordinary meteor was seen to pass over Italy. Its 
perpendicular altitude was at least 38 miles. At all the 
places near its course, it was heard to make a hissing 
noise as it passed, like that of artificial fireworks. 

In passing over Leghorn it gave a very loud report 
like that of a cannon j immediately after which another 



176" Aerolites. 

sort of sound was heard, like the rattling of a deeply- 
loaded wagon passing over the stones, 

A blazing meteor was, on the 19th of March, iri9, seen 
in every part of England. In the metropolis, about a 
quarter after eight at night, a sudden, powerful light was 
perceived in the west, far exceeding that of the moon. 

Where it had passed, it left behind a track of a cloudy 
or faint reddish yellow colour ; this continued more than 
a minute, seemed to sparkle, and kept its place without 
falling. It was agreed by all the spectators in the capital 
that the splendor of this meteor was little inferior to that 
of the sun. 

The perpendicular height of this surprising meteor was 
estimated at 64 geometrical miles ; and it was computed 
to have run about 500 of these miles in a minute. It was 
seen not only in every part of Great Britain and Ireland, 
but likewise in Holland, in the hither parts of Germany, 
in France, and in Spain nearly at the same instant of time. 

The accounts from Devonshire, Cornwall, and the 
neighbouring counties, were unanimous in describing the 
wonderful noise which followed its explosion. It resem- 
bled the report of a large cannon, or rather of a broadside, 
at some distance, which was followed by a rattling noise, 
as if many small arms had been promiscuously discharged. 

Clarke. 



JVo. 74. Aerolites. 

Meteoric stones have been ascertained to be con* 
nected with the fire balls described above. The stony 
bodies, when found immediately after their descent, are 
always hot. 

On the 7th of Nov. 1492, a little before noon, a dreadful 
thunder clap was heard in Alsace ; instantly after which 
a child saw a huge stone fall on a field newly sown with 
wheat. On searching, it was found to have penetrated the 
earth about 3 feet, and weighed 260 pounds. 

On the 24th of July, 1790, between nine and ten at 
night, a shower of stones fell near Agen, in Guienna. 



Scene at Beresina, 177 

First a luminious ball was seen traversing the atmosphere 
with great rapidity ; soon after, a loud explosion was heard ; 
this was followed by the fall of stones over a considerable 
extent of ground. 

In Normandy, early in the afternoon, of the 26th of 
April, 1812; a fiery globe of a very brilliant splendor, 
which moved in the air with great rapidity, was followed 
in a few seconds by a violent explosion, that lasted five or 
six minutes, and was heard to the extent of more than 50 
leagues, in every direction. 

Three or four reports, like those of a cannon, were fol- 
lowed by a discharge resembling a fire of musquetry ; af- 
ter which a dreadful rumbling was heard, like the beating 
of a drum. The air was calm, the sky serene, with the 
exception of a few clouds. 

A multitude of meteoric stones were seen to fall at the 
same time. The district in which they fell, forms an ellip- 
tical extent of about two leagues and a half in length, and 
nearly one in breadth. 

The number of these stones was reckoned to exceed 
three thousand ; and the largest of them weighed nearly 
20 pounds. They were friable some days after their fall, 
and smelt strongly of sulphur. They subsequently ac- 
quired the degree of hardness common to these stones. 

Clarke, 



JW 75. Scene at Beresina, between the 
French and Russians. 

We pass over many affecting scenes, and come to what 
took place at Beresina. Two bridges had been constructed, 
" one for the carriages and the other for the foot soldiers." 
About 8 o'clock (Nov. 28,) the bridge for the carriages and 
the cavalry broke down ; the baggage and artillery then 
advanced towards the other bridge and attempted to force 
a passage. 

"Now began a frightful contention between the foot 
soldiers and the horsemen. Many perished by the hands 
of their comrades, but a greater number were suffocated 



178 Scene at Beresma. 

at the head of the bridge ; and the dead bodies of men ■ 
and horses so choaked every avenue, that it was necessary 
to climb over mountains of carcasses to arrive at the river. 

Some who were buried in these horrible heaps still breath- 
ed, and struggling with the agonies of death caught hold of 
those who mounted over them ; but these kicked them with 
violence to disengage themselves, and without remorse trod 
them under foot." 

" At length the Russians advanced in ^ mass. At the 
sight of the enemy, the artillery, the baggage wagons, the 
cavalry and the foot soldiers, all pressed on, contending 
which should pass first. The stronger threw into the river 
those who were weaker, and hindered their passage, or un- 
feelingly trampled under foot all the sick they found in 
their way. 

" Man}^ hundreds were crushed to death by the wheels of 
the cannon. Thousands and thousands of victims, de- 
prived of ail hope, threw themselves headlong into the 
Beresina, and were lost in the waves." 

" The division of Girard made its way by force of arms, 
and climbing over the mountains of dead bodies, gained 
the other side. The Russians would soon have followed 
them, if they had not hastened to burn the bridge." 

" Then the unhappy beings on the other side of the Bere- 
sina abandoned themselves to absolute despair. The des- 
truction was now inevitable ; and amidst all their former 
disasters never were they exposed to, or can imagination 
conceive, horrors equal to those which encompassed them 
during that frightful night. 

The elements let loose, seemed to conspire to afflict 
universal nature, and to chastise the ambition and the 
crimes of man. Lamentable cries and groans alone marked 
the place of these miserable victims." 

" More than 20,000 sick and wounded fell into the hands 
of the enemy. Two hundred pieces of cannon were aban- 
doned. All the baggage of the two corps which had joined 
us, was equally the prev of the conquerors." 



The Safety Lamp. 179 

JVo. 76. The Safety Lamp. 

For nianj ages human ingenuity has been much exerted 
for the invention of instruments and means of human des- 
truction. But iJ is pleasing to observe, that there have 
been some philanthropists in the several countries, who have 
employed their powers of invention, in devising means for 
saving the lives of men 

" The Safety Lamp" in Britain is a modern invention, 
and much celebrated for its saving properties, in the coal 
mines of that country. The following account of its use 
is from the Percy Anecdotes. 

" The eflfects of those explosions produced in coal mines 
by what is called the fire damp have been long known ; 
and of late years by their frequency and extent had been 
peculiarly terrible. 

" By a singl • explosion in Felling colliery, near New- 
castle, no less than one hundred and one persons were des- 
troyed in an instant, and nearly as many families plung- 
ed in the deepest distress. 

" To Sir Humphrey Davy was reserved the unrivalled 
honor of at last discovering a complete protection against 
this frightful enemy. — It makes the fire-damp itself give 
warning of tlie danger which it threatens. This formida- 
able enemy has not only been conquered by science ; it is 
forced to serve, it becomes a sure guide, a submissive 
slave. 

*' The result is as wonderful as it is important. An in- 
visible and infallible barrier made eflfectual against a force 
the most violent and irresistible in its operations, and a 
power that in its tremendous effects seemed to emulate the 
lightning and the earthquake, confined in a narrov/ space, 
and shut up in a net of the most slender texture, are facts 
which might excite a degree of wonder and astonishment, 
from which neither ignorance nor wisdom can defend the 
beholder. 

" When to this we add the beneficial consequences and 
tlie saying of the lives of men, and consider that the effects 
are to remain as long as coal continues to be dug from the - 
bowels of the earth, it may fairly be said that there is hard- 



J 80 The Safety Lamp. 

ly, in the whole compass of art and science, a single in 
vention, of which one would rather wish to be the author. 

« It is little that the highest praise, and that even the 
voice of national gratitude, when most strongly expressed, 
can add to the happiness of one who is conscious of hav- 
ing done such a service to his fellow men.*' 

In these extracts we behold our British brethren rejoic- 
ing in a discovery for preserving men from the explosions 
of coal-mine " fire damps." It may be proper to invite at- 
tention to another species of " fire damp," which has long 
existed in Britain, in this country, and in every quarter of 
the g:lobe. 

The " fire damp," to which we allude, is composed of 
the following ingredients :— avarice, military ambition, and 
revenge. For distinction sake it may be denominated the 
martial *< fire-damp." The greater the quantity of this in 
any country, the more its inhabitants are exposed to fre- 
quent and fatal explosions. 

The explosion in the Felling colliery, which destroyed 
101 persons, was regarded as a terrible event. But how 
very small was this havoc, when compared with the ravag- 
es made by the explosion of martial " fire-damps" in Brit- 
ain ! How often has it been the case, that a hundred 
thousand persons have been destroyed by these explosions 
in a single campaign ! 

If then the invention of Sir Humphrey Davy be matter 
of so great rejoicing, who can estimate the worth of a 
« safety lamp," which shall secure men from the more fa- 
tal explosions of the martial "fire-damps" of every coun- 
try 1 And is there no remedy in this case ? Has God 
endowed men with wisdom to guard apinst the " fire- 
damps" of HIS creation, and left them without remedy for 
those which proceed from their own hearts ? 

No, verily. More than 1800 years ago he sent his Son 
to reveal a " safety-lamp," to preserve men from these 
martial explosions. This lamp is composed of the gospel 
precepts of love, forbearance, and forgiveness, and the ex- 
ample of the Messiah. This single precept, if duly ob- 
served, would be sufficient to secure our whole race 
against these evils. " All things whatsoever ye would that 
men should do to you, do ye even so to them." 



The Safety Lamp. IS I 

This "safety-lamp" was tried by the first settlers of 
Pennsylvania, in the midst of a ferocious and sava2;e peo- 
ple. Its effects were wonderful ; it so controlled the 
« fire-damps," that there was not one explosion for seventy 
years! It was indeed effectual, till men rose to power, 
who set aside the lamp, and adopted another policy. 

Sir Humphrey Davy's lamp would have been no protec- 
tion to the colliers of England, had they treated his direc- 
tions with as little regard as the rulers of nations have 
shown to the requirements of the gospel, and the example 
of the Prince of peace. 

Should the colliers extinguish their lamps, or place them 
at a distance in the open fields, then devise methods for 
augmenting the quantity of inflammable air in the mines, 
and multiply the causes of explosion, they would but imi- 
tate the policy which has been generally pursued by gov- 
ernments, in respect to the " safety-lamp," provided by the 
Father of mercies. 

To complete the parallel, the colliers and their directors 
should be made to believe, that conforming to Sir Hum- 
phrey Davy's instructions would be a mark of cowardice ; 
that to perish in conflicts ^with "fire-damps" is to die in 
"the field of glory and the bed of honor," and that brave- 
ly to expose themselves in such a glorious cause is the way 
to immortal renown. 

If the colliers should become thoroughly imbued with 
such delusive sentiments, they will then resemble a body 
of regular troops, rushing on death and ruin, in pursuit of 
military fame. 

But if Sir Humphrey Davy is entitled to esteem and 
gratitude for his saving exertions, what love and praise is 
due to Him who revealed the more important " safety- 
lamp," and sealed his testimony with his own blood 1 



Liberal, not lavish, is kind Nature's hand ; 
Nor was perfection made for man below; 
Yet all her schemes with nicest art are plann'd. 
Good counteracting ill, and gladness woe. 

Beattie, 
16 



1^^ Calumny a heinous Crime. 

JVo. 77- Calumny a heinous Crime. 

There are but few vices more injurious in their tenden- 
cy, more frequently forbidden or disapproved in the Bible, 
or more commonly practised among men, than that of speak- 
ing evd one of another. 

The following are among the admonitions, precepts, or 
exhortations, relating to this vice, contained in the scrip- 
tures. * 

" He that uttereth a slander is a fool." 
" Keep not company with a railer." 
•* Put them in mind to speak evil of no man." 
't^^^ J ^'^ ^^^* speaking be put away from amono; you." 
David interrogatesthus:—" Lord, who shall abide in thy 
tabernacle ? Who shall dwell in thy holy hill ?" In an- 
swQYmg the question he says— "He that backbiteth not 
with his tongue, nor doeth evil to his neighbor, nor taketh 
up a reproach against his neighbor." 

St. Paul exhorts Christians « not to keep company'' with 
any man that is a *^ miVer." He also classes the « revihr^' 
with the most odious characters, and assures us that such 
men "shall not inherit the kingdom of God." 

The benevolent example of Jesus Christ should always 
be regarded and imitated,— « Who when he was reviled 
reviled not again." This temper he displayed while « he 
went about doing good," and when he was reviled on the 
cross. 

hvTiwP'^'^^''^ f T-^^i"^' ^'' speaking evil, is forbidden 
by all ti,e pr-ecepts which require men to love one another, 

a^thyself??^^ ^'^'''"^"^'^^ ''^'^' ^'^' thy neighbor 

r2^^^ ^T^'"^^ ^^ '^^"^^' ^^'^^3^^ i"^Pli^s a want of due 
consideration, or a want of Christian benevolence ; and too 
remarkT^'''' malignity is the direct source of calumnious 

This vice ever abounds when men are under the influ- 
ence ot party spirit whether the parties are formed on ac- 
count of politics, re igion, or particular persons Under 
such influence people are little inclined to admit or sus- 
pect any evil in (heir revilings. 



Calumny a heinous crime, 183 

As evil speaking generally proceeds from evil passions, 
so it tends to excite evil passions in others ; and the mea- 
sure which the slanderer metes out, is very commonly 
measured to him in return. 

Much of the contention, which exist in societies and 
neighborhoods, is produced by this vice; and not unfre- 
quentiy public wars between nations have been excited or 
accelerated by the same pernicious means. 

As kind and soft words turn away wrath and preserve 
peace ; so unkind and reproachful words excite anger and 
produce hostilities. Calumnies which originated with a 
few men, have occasioned the destruction of thousands, 
and deluged countries in blood. 

" A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches." 
He therefore, who wantonly or maliciously robs his neigh 
bor of a good name, does a greater injury than the high- 
wayman or pirate, who merely robs a man of his money. 

A good name is essential to extensive usefulness ; and 
he that robs a worthy man of his reputation, does a great 
injury, not only to the individual whom he defames, but to 
the community of which he is a member. 

The defamer not only injures his neighbor and society, 
but he injures himself in the view of good men ; for m 
their esteem his reputation sinks, and the evil which he in- 
tended to another falls finally on his own head. 

Young people, therefore, who wish to be respected by the 
good, and to be useful and happy in this world, or to please 
God and to be happy in the world to come, should be as 
careful not to defame others, as they wish others to be not 
to defame them. 



The man who doth his neighbor wrong, 

By falsehood or by force. 
The scornful eye the slanderous tongue, 

I'll drive them from my doors. 

The pure, the faithful, and the just, 

My favor shall enjoy : 
These are the friends that I will trust, 

The servants I'll employ. 



184 Indian Catechising. 



The wretch who deals in sly deceit, 

I'll not endure a night ; 
The liar's tongue I ever hate. 

And banish from my sight. 

Watts. 



JVo. 78. Indian Catechising. 

$cme — A hut at the foot of the Stony mountains. 
Oronoko, an Indian Patriarch. 
Susquagaicna, his son, aged 18 years. 
Tallasee, daughter, aged 12 years. 
Wakanista, son, aged 10 years. 

Oron. My son, who made you ? 

Wak. I dont know, father, you never told me. 

O. Are you made right ? Have you got hands to do 
with, feet to walk with, eyes to see with, ears to hear with, 
nose to smell with, teeth to eat with, tongue to talk with ? 

W, Yes, father. 

O. Some good spirit made you. The Great Spirit made 
you. He is greater than all men, stronger than all men, 
wiser than any man. He made the sun and moon, the 
, earth and the grass, the rivers, and the fishes, the birds 
and the beasts, and men. He made all things, for all things 
are made wisely, and good.. We must try to please him. 

W, Father, did he make the white men ? 

0. He made the white men, and the black men, and the 
red men. He made all men. He made them to live to- 
gether in love, and to love him, and behold his wonderful 
works. 

Tallesee, Father, how shall we know how to please the 
Great Spirit; did you ever see him ? 

0. I have heard him, my child — he speaks to my inward 
ear. 

W. What does he tell you, father ? 

O. He tells me my heart is bad, it must be made clean. 

Tal. Father, I thought your heart was good, what made 
it bad ? 

0. Bad thoughts, my child. We must be humble an4 



tncltan .Catechising, , l^S 

iowlj ; we mu^t love the Good Spirit, and all that he has 
made ; we must be kind to all men, for they are his people. 

PT. Father, must we love the white men ? 

0. Yes, mv son, the white men. 

Tal. Those that burned our huts, and the corn and meat 
that the Good Spirit gave us to live on : and turned moth- 
er and you, and grandfather, and all of us out in the snow, 
and drove us, and all our friends from the hunting ground 
that the Good Spirit gave to our fathers ? Must we love 
them ? 

O. Yes, my child, we must forgive them : and if they are 
cold and hungry, we must take them in and feed them. 
The Good Spirit says so. 

W. Father, I canH forgive them. When I get old 
enough to carry a big bow, and a war-club, I want to help 
our people to kill them. 

O. That is because your heart is bad, like the hearts of 
those bad white men. 

Tal. Father, does thejGreat Spirit speak to the white men 
as he does to you ? 

0. The Great Spirit talks to all men, to make them do 
right. But the white men v/ill not be quiet long enough to 
hear. They have too many things to mind ; too many 
thoughts of their own. 

W. Father, I am afraid you were not still, when you 
thought the Good Spirit told you to love the white men. 

O." Yes, my son, I was still. When first 1 thought I 
heard it, I was not still, for I did not want to hear that 
word ; my heart was like yours, I wanted to kill the white 
men. — But the Spirit said, " No ; you must forgive them. 
They are my white men. I want them to live, that they 
may learn to do better." 

Tal. Fatlier, you told us the white men had a great book 
to tell them about the Good Spirit, and to teach them how 
to please him. Where did they get. that .buok P 

0, They say the Great Spirit spoke to their fathers, and 
told tbeui what to write. 

W. Why did not the Good Spirit give a book to the 
Indians ? 

' 0. My son, the Good Spirit speaks to the Indians him-. 
self. But the white men not being quiet enougti to hear 
16* 



186 Indian Catechisings 

with their inward ears, he gave them a book out of cdni* 
passion to the weakness of their understanding. When 
they learn to be still, thej wont want a book. 

W. Father, how long have they had that good book? 

0. As many moons, my son, as there are grains on a 
hundred ears of corn. 

W. Then, father, I'm afraid they'll never be still 

T. Father, does the white men's book speak the same 
words that the Great Spirit speaks to you ? 

O. If it is a true book it must ; for the Great Spirit is 
one. He does not speak with two tongues. 

T. Then why don't the white men learn better. They 
kill their red brethren ; and take their land. They steal 
their black brethren from their country ; and make slaves 
of them. And you say they often kill one another. 

0. Alas ! my children-— I am afraid the white people 
do not understand their book — or that bad men have writ- 
ten something in it that the Good Spirit did not tell them to 
write. There are many bad things among our white breth- 
ren. They have wise men, whom they^pay to make their 
laws and rules plain — and they have other wise men who 
are paid to make the words of the great book plain — but 
though they have studied it all themselves, and wrote 
books to explain it, bigger than the great book itself, they 
cannot agree about the meaning. They have made both 
the words of their head men and the words of the Great 
Spirit harder to be understood than they were before. But 
that is their trade, for if these were made plain, the wise 
men would soon have nothing to do. 

Susq. Father, I have listened to your talk. Now, I want 
to tell you what I have been thinking. I have thought that 
the Indians ought to send some good men among the white 
people, to tell them what the Good Spirit says to the In- 
dians, and to see if it agrees with what is written in their 
book. 

O. I fear, my son, they are too proud to listen to the 
poor Indians. The white nation has grown big and strong. 
Its top reaches the sky, and its roots are spread over all 
the land. The Indians are but a little bush that can hard-_^ 
ly live in the shade of this big tree. 
But there are soiije good men among the white people 



Fahle of the Turkey and the Ant, 187 

who want all to live like brethren. They want their breth- 
ren to let the black people go free, and pay them for their 
work ; and not to kill any more of their red brethren, nor 
take their land. Perhaps they will listen to these good 
men. And then it will be a good day — the sky will be 
clear again — the grass will be green, and the rivers will 
run sweet and clear. 

Susq. Alas ! my father, if they do not hear soon, I am 
afraid there will he no Indians left to see that good day, 

Qzteri/— Would it not be well for Christians, while they 
teach their children the mysteries of Christianity, to give 
them a practical illustration of its spirit and precept. 

Poulson's d, B. Advertiser, 



JS'"o, 79. Fable of the Turkey and the Ant. 

In other men we faults can spy, 
And blame the mote that dims their eye ; 
Each little speck and blemish find ; 
To our ov/n stronger errors blind. 

A Turkey tir'd of common food, 
Forsook the barn and sought the wood ; 
Behind her ran her infant train. 
Collecting here and there a grain. 
Draw near, my birds, the mother cries, 
This hill delicious fare supplies ; 
Behold, the busy negro race : 
See, millions blacken all the place ! 
Fear not, like me with freedom eat; 
An Ant is most delightful meat. 
How blest, how envied were our life. 
Could we but 'scape the poult'rer's knife ! 
An Ant, who climb'd beyond his reach. 
Thus answer'd from a neighb'ring beech : 
Ere you remark another's sin. 
Bid thy own conscience look within ; 
Control thy more voracious bill. 
Nor for a breakfast nations kill. 

Gay. 



188 The love of Martial Glory, 

JVo. 80. The love of Martial Glory. 

Our inquiries in this article will relate to a passion 
which has long been the boast of every nation in Christen- 
dom—the love of martial glorj. This passion has been 
celebrated as a virtue, worthy of the highest admiration 
and praise. 

It is, however, important that its claims to respect shoald 
be examined, and its real character impartially displayed. 
"Every tree is known by its fruit,'* whether it be good or 
bad ; and by this criterion we should estimate the love of 
martial glory. But let us first attend to the meaning of 
the terms. 

What then is martial glory ? It is that fame and praise, 
which is bestowed on warriors for their valor and success 
in attempting to destroy one another. As the terms are 
commonly used, they have no respect to the right or the 
wrong, the justice or the injustice of the cause in which the 
valor is displayed. On either side of a contest, if bravery 
is successful, the glory is sure to be given. 

Men have acquired an astonislilng share of this glory in 
wars the mostvvanton and murderous; and nothing can be 
more unjust than the wars of those conquerors whose names 
have been most celebrated in history. As military glory is 
acquired only by war, the love of this glory must involve a 
desire of war, as the means for attaining t!ie object. 

What then is war ? It is an employment vt^hich gives 
ample scope to the vilest passions of men, — it is carried on 
by the arts of deception, injustice, violence and cruelty, — 
it sacrifices the lives and happiness of thousands and of 
millions for the benefit of a few, and fills the countries of 
the world with extreme suffering, lawless rapine, merciless 
carnage, frightful desolation, and horrid murder. 

Such are some of the genuine fruits of the love of mar- 
tial glory, as they have appeared in different ages and coun- 
tries. But liunian language is too feeble to portray the 
crimes and suiterings produced by this destestable passion. 
For no tongue, no pen, no pencil can give an adequate des- 
cription of the mischiefs and horrors of war 

The love of military glory is one of the principal sources 
of public war, with all its crimes and calamities. It is the 



The love of Martial Glory. 189 

bane of civil liberty and public happiness, and the cause of 
despotism, slaveij, oppression and national ruin. 

The indulgence of this passion is condemned by the 
spirit and example of the Messiah, by the precepts and 
prohibitions of his gospel, and by every principle of moral 
justice and philanthropy. Indeed this passion is a contrast 
to every thing good in God or man ; and it transforms hu- 
man beings into devils to their own species, under the mask 
of guardians and benefactors. 

It resorts to the vilest means for the attainment of its 
end The flagitious crimes of pirates, highwaymen and in- 
cendiaries, practised on a scale of almost unlimited extent, 
are the ordinary means by which military glory is achieved. 

The love of martial glory is an expensive pa&vsion. Be- 
sides the hundreds of millions of human victims which it 
has sacrificed to its idol, and the inconceivable amount of 
property which it has destroyed in its ravages, — the pecuni- 
ary expense by which it has been supported, transcends the 
powers of arithmetic intelligibly to express. 

The passion for military fame is as bewildering as it is 
expensive. In the esteem of those who are under its in- 
fluence, the most atrocious acts of violence and injustice 
are splendid exploits of virtue,- and the most amiable vir- 
tues are regarded as mean and contemptible vices. 

This passion treats the benevolent laws of Jehovah as of 
no authority when they stand opposed to its career for 
fame It also inflates the mind ot' its possessor, and de- 
ceives him in regard to his own character and worth. 

He often imagines himself to be entitled to high esteem 
and praise, while in truth he is but a successful robber, pi- 
rate, or murderer. Thus the inflated Alexander aspired to 
divine honors for his wonderful exploits ; yet his true cha- 
racter was given by the man who said to hnn, " Thou art 
the greatest robber in the world." 



ALEXANDER THE GREAT. 

The Grecian chief the enthusiast of his pride. 
With rage and terror stalking by his side. 
Raves round the globe ; he soars into a God ! 
Stand fast, Olympus ! and sustain his nod. 



190 Mou7it Etna. 

What slaughtered hosts ! what cities in a blaze I 
What wasted countries ! and what crimson seas! 
With orphans' tears his impious bowl o'erflovvs, 
And cries of kingdoms lull him to repose. 

And cannot thrice ten hundred years unpraise 

The boist'rons boy, and blast his guilty bays ? 

Why want we then encomiums on the'storm. 

Or famine, or volcano ? they perform 

Their mighty deeds ; they^ hero-like, can slay, 

And spread their ample deserts in a day. 

O great alliance ! O divine renown ! 

With dearth and pestilence to share the crown. 

When men extol a wild destroyer's name. 

Earth's Builder and Preserver they blaspheme. 

One to destroy is murder by the law ; 
And gibbets keep the lifted hand in awe. 
To murder thousands, takes a specious name. 
War's glorious art, and gives immortal fame. 

When after battle, I the field have seen 

Spread o'er with ghastly shapes, which once were men , 

A nation crush'd ! a nation of the brave ! 

A realm of death ! and on this side the gravel 

Are there, said I, who from this sad survey. 

This human chaos, carry smiles away! 

Foun£i\ 



JVo. SI. Mount Etna, 

The elevation of Etna above the level of the sea has been 
estimated at upwards of two miles. It is the largest burn- 
ing mountain in Europe. From its sides others arise which 
have been ejected from its enormous crater. 

The most extensive lavas of Vesuvius do not exceed 
seven miles in length, while those of Etna extend to fifteen, 
twenty, and some even to thirty miles. The crater of Et- 
na is seldom less than a mile in circuit, and som.etimes ik 
two or three miles. 



Mount Etna. 1^1 

This single mountain contains an epitome of the diffe- 
rent climates throughout the world, presenting at once all 
the seasons of the jear, and all the varieties of produce. 

It is accordingly divided into three distinct zones or re- 
gions — the torriti, temperate, and the frigid — but which are 
known by the names of the cultivated region, the woody 
or temperate region, and the frigid or desert region. 

The former of these extends through twelve miles of the 
ascent towards the summit, and is almost incredibly abun- 
dant in pastures and fruit trees of every description. It is 
covered with towns, villages, and monasteries ; and the 
number of inhabitants is estimated at 120,000. 

In ascending to the woody or temperate region the scene 
changes ; it is a new climate, a new creation. Below, the 
heat is suffocating; but here the air is mild and fresh. 

The inequality of the soil displays every moment some 
variety of scene — here, the ash and flowering thorns form 
domes of verdure ; there, the chesnut- trees grow to an 
enormous size. One of which has a circumference of two 
hundred and four feet 

The desert region commences more than a mile above 
the level of the sea. The lower part is covered with snow 
in the winter only ; but on the upper half of this sterile 
district the snows continually lie. 

In 1 669, the torrent of burning lava inundated a space 14 
miles in length and 4 in breadth, burying beneath it a part 
of Catania, till at length it precipitated itself into the sea. 

Ignited rocks, 15 feet in length, were hurled to the dis- 
tance of a mile ; while others of a smaller size were car- 
ried three miles. During the night, the red hot lava burst 
out of a vineyard 20 miles below the crater. In its course 
it destroyed 5000 habitations and filled up a lake several 
fathoms deep. 

The showers of scoria and sand 'which, after a lapse of 
two days, followed this eruption, formed a mountain called 
Monte Rosso, having a base of about two miles, and a per- 
pendicular height of 750 feet. 



— ^Etna roars with dreadful ruins nigh 
Now hurls a bursting cloud of cinders hio^h, 
Involved in smoky whirlwinds to the sky ; 



Clar?<:e 

] 



1§£ Useful and Entertaining Anecdotes, 

With loud displosion to the starry frame. 
Shoots fiery globes, and furious floods of flame. 
Now from her bellowing caverns burst away 
Vast piles of melted rocks in open day. 
Her shatter'd entrails wide the mountain throws 
And deep as hell iier flaming centre glows. 

Warton, 

To show that the substances ejected by the Volcano are 
thrown from vast depths below its base, Dr. Goldsmith 
says, "that the quantity of matter discharged by Etna 
alone, is supposed, upon a moderate computation, to ex- 
ceed twenty times the original bulk of the mountain." 



JSTo. 82. Useful and Entertaining 
Anecdotes. 

AmsTiDEs being judge between two private persons, one 
of them declared that his adversary had greatly injured 
Aristides. " Relate rather, good friend," said he, inter- 
rupting him, " what wrong he hath done thee, for it is thy 
cause, not mine, that ! now sit judge of." 

Anacharsis was wont to deride the endeavours of Solon, 
whose code of law superseded the bloody one of Draco, to 
repress the evil passions of his fellow citizens with a few 
words, which, said he, are no better than spider's webs, 
which the strong will break through at pleasure. 

" So like a fly the poor offender dies. 

But like a wasp, the rich escapes and flies." 

Benham, 

The reply of Solon was worthy of the law -giver of a re- 
fined people. " Men," said he, "will be sure to stand to 
those covenants, which will bring evident disadvantages ta 
the infringers of them. 

" T have so framed and tempered the laws of Athens, 
that it shall manifestly appear to ^11, that it is more for 



Importance of Self Cultivation. 193 

their interest strictly to observe, than in any thing to vio- 
late and infringe them.'' 

While Athens was governed by the thirty tyrants, Soc- 
rates, the philosopher, was summoned to the Senate House, 
and ordered to go with some other persons, whom they 
named, to seize one Leon, a man or rank and fortune, 
whom they determined to put out of the way, that they 
might enjoy his estate. 

This commission Socrates positively refused. " I will 
not willingly," said he, " assist in an unjust act." Cheri- 
cles sharply replied, " Dost thou think, Socrates, to talk in 
this high tone, and not to suffer .?" " Far from it," replied 
he, " I expect to suiFer a thousand ills, but none so great 
as to do unjustly." 

During the war with France in 1780, Mr. Fox, a mer- 
chant of Falmouth, had a share in a ship, which the other 
owners determined to fit out as a letter of marque, very 
much against the wishes of Mr. Fox, who was a quaker. 
The ship had the fortune to take two French merchant- 
men, and the share of the prize money which fell to Mr. 
Fox, was £1500. 

At the close of the war, Mr. Fox sent his son to Paris, 
with the £1500, which he faithfully refunded to the owners 
of the vessels captured. 



JSTo. 83. Importance of Self-Ciiltivation. 

If it be allowed that character is of essential importance, 
it will readily be granted that education is the grand 
means of forming character. The youth assents to this, 
and replies, he has been so many years at school., states the 
sciences he has learned, the masters by whom he has been 
ins ■ ructed, and possibly too the prizes he has won. 

All this sounds well, and the sound will perhaps im- 
pose on the inconsiderate, to persuade them that all is 
done that needs to be done ; — all is gained which can ever 
be wanted. If such a delusion takes place, and is fostered, 
the character is ruined; it will never rise to eminence; it 
will lose what already appears promisiiig. 
17 



194 Importance of Self Cultivation. 

It not unfrequently happens that what has been diligentlj 
sought under tuition, is not of the exact nature which will 
^e needful in life, in the occupation to which circumstan- 
ces lead. Much that is taught to a youth is exactly what 
he must forgot, it being of no use to, him. 

Knowledge laid up in scholastic instruction may be com- 
pared to gold or silver in ingots; valuable, indeed, but not 
properly useful, till shaped into some vessel, or minted 
into current coin. A man may be rich, and yet starve, if 
his riches are not in some transferable property. 

This shapirfg of knowledge to its various uses, will de- 
pend on a man's self. A mere knowledge of the learned 
languages is lumber till a man begins to study some subject 
for himself ; then he finds the value of erudition. 

A slight acquaintance with biography will convince us, 
that it is thus the most eminent characters have arisen to 
their meridian splendor. All who have increased our 
knowledge in science, nature, or art, must of necessity be 
self-taught. 

Newton did not learn his sublime discoveries at school ; 
but taught himself by patient attention, acute sagacity and 
laborious investigation No giddy, volatile, unobservant 
mind, could have become a Newton, though trained at fifty 
universities. 

Observe Franklin, a poor printer's lad. — By acute rea- 
soning on electricity, and happy, though simple experi- 
ments, he fetches from the clouds the vivid lightnings ; 
rises to the rank at which philosophers look up, and moves 
in an exalted sphere among statesmen ; the honor of his 
country, the boast of the transatlantic world. ^ 

What was Simpson, the great mathematician, author of 
learned treatises, ranking him with the most scientific men 
of the age ? At first only a poor weaver ; but by sedulous 
attention, he taught himself, and rose from his obscurity to 
a name of lasting eminence. 

Herschei, whose mighty telescopes carry us, as it were, 
close to the stellar orbs, rose to the patronage of his majes- 
ty, and the listening attention of European astronomers, 
from the low station of a fifer boy in the army. 

Thp names of Chambers, author of the Cyclopedia ; of 
Ferguson, eminent in his day ks a lecturer in astronomy ; 



Good Rulers a substitute for Fleets and Armies. 195 

of Sir Humphrey Davy, now deeply searching into the se- 
crets of nature, by the aid of chemistry ; of Buchanan, 
eminent for his researches in India, deserve to be men-^ 
tioned, as having forced their way upwards, in spite of 
overwhelming difficulties. 

These, and many others, might be adduced, as instances 
of the wonderful effect of self education ; for their own 
labor and genius has done all for them, in spite of difficul- 
ties with which the want of instruction loaded their exer- 
tions, in every step of their pursuit. 

Reputation and eminence thus acquired, is acquired law- 
fully. Mankind allow the claim ; although when founded 
on riches, birth, or accident, they are apt to dispute it and 
to degrade the vain pretender. 

Mind alone is not all that is implied in successful emi- 
nence ; it includes also such assiduous, energetic applica- 
tion of mental powers, as gives them a valuable character. 

No seed can be sown of a nature more productive than 
knowledge — if the soil be good, and the cultivation dili- 
gent, caieful, and scientific. 

It was a mere hint, the dropping of an apple from a tree, 
which in the mind of Sir Isaac Newton, evolved and rami- 
fied, till it embraced and unfolded the planetary system. 

Every exertion of the mind, as every exertion of the 
limbs, makes more and greater exertions easy. New ideas 
are added with greater facility and greater pleasure ; all 
the store is so much readier for use, and more effective, 
which ever way applied. 

British Magazine. 



JVTo. 84. Good Rulers a substitute for 
Fleets^ and Armies. 

It is in general but little understood how much the 
peace and happiness of a nation depend on the character 
of its rulers. Any intelligent and impartial man, who shall 
carefully examine history, and observe the characters of 
those who have ruled over men, will find no difficulty in 
accounting for the frequency of public wars. 



196 Good Rulers a substitute for Fleets and Armies. 

A virtuous community would have considerable influ- 
ence on the conduct of rulers, but virtuous rulers would 
have a still greater influence on the conduct of a. peoplco 
For men in general look up and not down for examples. 

It is doubtless true, that false principles have done much 
to produce war ; but false and corrupt hearts have done 
more. When military ambition, avarice and profligacy 
are at the helm of a state, to direct its counsels and shape 
its course, — what better than war and misery can be ex- 
pected ? 

We are clearly of opinion, that between nations which 
have any just claim to be called civilized, there can never 
be any occasion for war, which does not principallv result 
from the want of good men in power. There may indeed 
be many subjects of complaint and irritation, which are not 
to be imputed to rulers ; but wise and good rulers in office 
will not be at a loss for a better mode than war, for the 
adjustment of differences. 

When therefore we find by history, that this and that 
nation have been for centuries, the greater part of the time 
engaged in war ; we may safely infer, that they have for 
the greater part of that period been under the dominion of 
rulers who were more deserving of a state prison than a 
palace. If any doubt should arise as to the correctness of 
the inference, examine history, and you will find it amply 
supported ; it will clearly appear, that the sovereigns, or 
their ministers, were unprincipled and profligate men 

History accords with scripture in teaching-, that " when 
the rigliteous are in authority, the people rejoice ; but when 
the wicked bear rule, the people mourn " As means of 
preventing the evils of war, fleets and armies are as nothing, 
or worse tlian nothing, when compared with wise and good 
rulers. 

Posterity will probably perceive, that the immense ex- 
penditures of christian nations in preparing for war, have 
been so much employed to supply the defects, or to gratify 
the ambition of men in power ; and that the state of these 
nations would have been greatly improved, could they have 
exalted good men to fill the first offices of state, as a sub» 
stitute for military and naval establishments. 



Good Rulers a suhstiiutefor Fleets and Armies. 197 

If we have not been misinformed, the annual expense of 
one of our ships of Seventy -four guns is more than eight 
times the amount of the President's salary. But may it 
not in truth be said, that the President of the United 
States,— -possessing a truly pacific character, and having 
formed correct estimates of war and peace — must be a bet- 
ter defence, and afford more security to this nation, than a 
hundred such ships of the line. 

Of what immense value, then, would it be to our nation, 
to have not only such a man for a President, but men of a 
similar character, to fill all the principal offices of state, and 
to occupy the seats in the two Houses of Congress ! Ex- 
cluding all considerations of disparity in the expense, we 
may venture to assert, that such a host of wise, benevo- 
lent, and pacific men in power, would be a better defence 
to this nation against the evils of war, than as great an 
army as was ever marshalled on land, and as great a fleet 
as ever traversed the ocean. 

If all nations should be blest with such rulers, how could 
public war again occur ? Such rulers, instead of exciting 
a spirit of hostility, v/ould successfully employ their influ- 
ence in diffusing the spirit of peace and good will among 
men ; and this would soon preclude the supposed necessity 
of expensive preparations for war. 



MILITARY GLORY COMPARED t6 A WATERFALL. 

glory ! glory ! mighty one on earth ! 
How justly imaged in this waterfall ! 
So wild and furious in thy sparkling birth. 
Dashing thy torrents down, and dazzling all ; 
Sublimely breaking from thy glorious height. 
Majestic, thundering, beautiful and bright. 

How many a wondering eye is turned to thee. 
In admiration lost ; — short-sighted men ! 
Thy furious wave gives no fertility ; 
Thy waters, hurrying fiercely through the plain, 
Bring nought but devastation and distress, 
And leave the flowery vale a wilderness. 
17* 



198 CotopaxL 

fairer, lovelier is the modest rill, 

Watering with steps serene the field, the grove-^ 

Its gentle voice as sweet and soft and still 

As shepherd's pipe, or song of youthful love. 

It has no thundering torrent, but it flows 

Unwearied, scattering blessings as it goes. 

Berzhaven. 



JVo. 8^. Cotopaxi. 

This mountain is the loftiest of those Volcanoes of the 
Andes which at recent epochs have undergone eruptions. 
Notwithstanding it lies near the equator, its summits are 
covered with perpetual snows. Its height is three miles 
and a half. 

The masses of scoriai and pieces of rock, thrown out of 
this Volcano, cover a surface of several square leagues, and 
would form, if heaped together, a prodigious mountain. 

Tn 1738 the flames of Cotopaxi rose upwards of half a 
mile above the brink of the crater. In 1744, the roarings 
of this volcano were heard at the distance of 600 miles. 

On the 4th of April, 1768, the quantity of ashes ejected 
at the mouth of Cotopaxi was so great, that it was dark till 
three in the afternoon . 

The explosion v/hich took place in 1803, was preceded 
by the sudden melting of the snows which covered thef 
mountain. In a single night the subterraneous fires be- 
came so active, that at sun-rise the external walls of the 
cone appeared naked, and of the dark color of vitrified 
scoriee. 

At the port of Guayquil, observes Humbolt, 52 leagues 
distant from the crater, we heard day and night, the noise 
of this Volcano, like continued discharges of a battery ; 
and we distinguished these tremenduous sounds even on 
the Pacific Ocean. 

Clarke, 

Br. Goldsmith, in speaking of Cotopaxi, quotes from 
UUoa an account of an eruption of this Volcano 1748, i» 
which the following facts are stated : 



S. winter evening in Iceland, 19() 

The Ignited substances, ejected on this occasion, mixed 
with a prodigious quantity of ice and snow, melting amidst 
its flames, were carried d.own with such astonishing rapid- 
ity, that in an instant the valley from Callio to Latatungo 
was overflowed. 

Besides its ravages in bearing down the houses of the 
Indians and other poor inhabitants, great numbers of people 
lost their lives. 

The river of Latatungo was the channel of this terrible 
flood ; tiil, being too small for receiving such a prodigious 
current, it overflowed the adjacent country, like a vast 
lake, near the town, and carried away all the buildings 
within its reach. 



J\19. 86. A winter evening in Icelande 

A vv INTER evening in an Icelandic family presents a scene 
in the highest degree interesting and pleasing. Between 
three and four o'clock the lamp is hung up in the principal 
apartment, which answers the double purpose of a bed-* 
chamber and sitting-room, and all the members of the fami- 
ly take their station, with their vv^ork in their hands, on 
their respective beds, all of which face each other. 

The work is no sooner begun, than one of i]\Q family 
advances to a seat near the lamp, and commences the even- 
ing lecture, which generally consists of some old saga, or 
such other histories as are to be obtained on the island. 

Being but badly supplied with printed books, the Ice- 
landers are under the necessity of copying such as they 
can get the loan of, which sufficiently accounts for the fact, 
that most of them write a hand equal in beauty to that of 
the ablest writing- masters in other parts of Europe. 

Some specimens of their Gothic writing is scarcely in- 
ferior to copperplate. The reader is frequently interrupted, 
either by the head, or some of the more intelligent mem- 
bers of the family, who make remarks on various parts of 
the story, aud propose questions, with a view to exercise 
the ingenuity of the children and servants. 

In some houses the sagas are repeated by such as have 



200 A winter evening in Iceland. 

got them by heart; and instances are not uncommon of 
itinerating historians who gain a livelihood during the win- 
ter, by staying at different farms till they have exhausted 
their stock of literary knowledge. 

It is greatly to be deplored, that a people so distinguish- 
ed by their love of science, and possessing the most favor- 
able opportunities of cultivating it, should be destitute of 
the means necessary for improving them to advantage. 

Surely the learned in Europe who have profited so much 
from the ancient labors of the Icelanders, and are now in 
possession of their most valuable manuscripts, are bound 
in justice to reciprocate, and furnish them with such books 
in their own language, as would make them acquainted 
with the more important branches of human knowledge. 

The custom just described, appears to have existed 
among the Scandinavians from time immemorial. The 
person chosen as reciter was called Thulr, and was always 
celebrated for his knowledge of past events ; and the dig- 
nity and pathos with which he related them. 

Instead of the sagas, some of the more pious substitute 
the historical books of scripture ; and as they always give 
the preference to poetry, most of these books have been 
translated into metre, chiefly with a view to this exercise. 

At the conclusion of the evening labors, which are fre- 
quently continued till near midnight, the family join in 
singing a psalm or two ; after which, a chapter from some 
book of devotion is read, if the family be not in possession 
of a bible, but where this sacred book exists it is preferred 
to every other. 

A prayer is also read by the head of the family, and the 
exercise concludes with a psalm. Their morning devotions 
are conducted in a similar manner, at the lamp. 

When the Icelander awakes, he does not salute any per- 
son that may have slept in the room with him, but hastens 
to the door, and lifting up his eyes towards heaven, adores 
Him who made the heavens and the earth, the author and 
preserver of his being, and the source of every blessing. 
He then returns into the house, and salutes every one he 
meets, with ** God grant you a good day." 

British Ma^a^ine, 



, Trophies of Victory, 201 

AN EPITAPH ON A POOR BUT HONEST MAN* 

Stop, reader, here, and deign to look 

On one without a name. 
Ne'er enter 'd in the ample book 

Of fortune or of fame. 

Studious of peace, he hated strife ; 

Meek virtues fiU'd his breast ; 
His coat of arms *' a spotless life," 
« An honest heart*' his crest. 

Quarter'd therewith was innocence ; 

And thus his motto ran : 
" A conscience void of all offence 

" Before both God and man." 

In the great day of wrath, tho' pride 

Now^ scorns his pedigree ; 
Thousands shall wish they'd been allied 

To this great family. 

Elegant Extracts^ 



wVo. 87. Tropliies of Victory. 

Trophies of victory or conquest are preserved and ex- 
hibited as the pride of individuals and the glory of nations ; 
and they have been employed as means of exciting the 
same spirit of rapine and violence, as that by which they 
were obtained. Savages preserve the scalps of those they 
kill in war. More polished nations preserve standards, 
statues, paintings, and other articles which they have plun- 
dered from the inhabitants of conquered countries. Young 
men are directed to regard these trophies as proofs ot the 
virtue and prowess of their ancestors. This practice has 
been adopted by Christian nations ; and perhaps the peo- 
ple of every country have treasures of this kind in which 
they glory. 

But what does reason, enlightened by religion, say ot 



202 Trophies of t ictory. 

such a practice, and such memorials ? It says the practice 
IS barbarous, derived from pagans and savages, unworthy 
of existence among Christians, and a reproach to any 
country. ' "^ 

What ! shall Christians preserve memorials of the rob- 
beries and bloodshed committed by their ancestors, or their 
cotemporaries, to stimulate the young to follow such exam- 
ples ! With equal propriety they mi2;ht preserve the idols 
and altars of pagan forefathers, to excite in children a ven- 
eration for idolatrous worship, and a delight inhuman sac- 
rifices. 

^ Trophies of victory have generally been trophies of bar- 
barity, injustice, murder, and desolation. What should we 
think of a band of robbers or pirates, so hardened or so 
blind, as to preserve trophies of their destructive exploits, 
to encourage their children to imitate their examples? 
This would be as just, as humane, and as wise, as the poli- 
cy of Christian nations now under review. 

Are not the trophies of the Spanish conquest of South 
America— of the British conquests in India—of Napo- 
leon's conquests in Europe, and of our victories over the 
natives of this country, in general. Memorials of injustice, 
rapine, and violence,-— as inconsistent with the Christian 
*'^HT^R? ^^ *^^ conduct for v/hich pirates and robbers are 
doi^^l^i to die? 

What essential difference can be discerned in the cases, 
except on the principle, that rulers may honorably and 
safely commit such acts of robbery and violence, as would 
expose common people to infamy and to hell ? 

Trophies of victory are so far from operating to pre- 
serve a nation from war and to promote its prosperity, that 
they have a direct tendency to its ruin. They are the 
means of exciting envy, pride, ambition, malignity, and re- 
venge. They tend to intoxicate and bewilder the minds of 
men,—to make them thirst for war,^to overlook its crimes 
and calamities,— to seek occasions of strife, — to take of- 
fence at trifles, and rashly to expose a people to misery 
and destruction. 

The numerous trophies treasured up in Paris by Napo- 
leon, were fuel to keep alive the fire of war, till France 
was made to feel the terrible effects of a war policy, and 
was stript of her Memorials of conquest. 



Trophies of Fidory. 203 

It will perhaps be said that Christian nations do not take 
the scalps of the slain to preserve as trophies. Truly they 
do not ; but when they have deprived men of their lives, 
it is less inhuman and less unjust to take the scalps of the 
dead, than to add to the misery of survivors, by destroying 
their dwellings or taking any thing which would be neces- 
sary to their subsistence or their comfort. 

Christians of this country have been delighted in hear- 
ing that the inhabitants of Otaheite had " burned their 
ic?ots,"and become worshippers of the living God. Would 
it not however be matter of still greater joy, if such a re- 
formation should occur in Christendom ? 

Let no one imagine, that the general consent of nations 
to the practice of preserving trophies is any evidence in 
its favour. In former ages there was a general consent of 
nations to the custom of offering human sacrifices. Both 
customs are, we believe, an abomination in the sight of 
God, and utterly unworthy to be associated with the name 
of a Christian, 



DECISION AT THE TEMPLE OF FAME. 

A TROOP came next, who crowns and armor wore, 
And proud defiance in their looks they bore : 
* For thee, (t'^^ey cry'd,) amidst alarms and strife. 
We sail'd in tempests down the streajn of life ; 
For thee, whole nations filPd v^dth flames and blood. 
And swam to empire through the purple flood : 
Those ills we dar'd, thy inspiration own; 
Vv hat virtue seem'd, was done for thee alone.' 
« A noitious fools ! (the queen replied and frowa'd) 
Be all your acts in dark oblivion drown'd ; 
There sleep forgot, with mighty tyrants gone. 
Your statues moulder'd, and your names unknown !- 
A sudden cloud straight snatch'd them from my sight. 
And each majestic phantojn sunk in night. 

Then came the smallest tribe 1 jet had seen ; 
Plain was their dress aiid modest was their mien 
' Great idol of mankind ! we never claim 
The praise of merit, nor aspire to fame ! 
But safe in deserts from th' applause of men, 



204 Specimens of Indian eloquence, 

"Would die unheard of, as we liv'd unseen ; 
'Tis all we beg thee, to conceal ironi sight 
Those acts of goodness which themselves requite. 
O let us still the secret joy partake, 
To follow virtue, ev'n for virtue*'s sake.' 

* And live there men who slight immortal fame? 
Who then wdth incense shall adore our name ? 
But, mortals ! know, 'tis still our greatest pride 
To blaze those virtues which the good would hide. 
Rise ! muses, rise ! add all jour tuneful breath. 
These must not sleep in darkness and in death.' 
She said : in air the trembling music floats. 
And on the winds triumphant swell the notes; 
So soft, though high, so loud, and yet so clear, 
Ev'n listening angels lean'd from Heaven to hear: 
To farthest shores the ambrosial spirit flies. 
Sweet to the world, and grateful to the skies 

Fope. 



JVo. 88. Specimens of Indian eloquence. 

Extracts from Captain Pipe's speech to the British commandant at 
Detroit. 

Father ! sometime ago you put a war hatchet mto my 
hands, saying — Take this weapon and try it on the 
heads of my enemies, the Long Knives, and let me after- 
wards know if it was sharp and good. 

Father ! At the tiaie when you gave me this weapon, I 
had neither cause nor inclination to go to war against a 
people who had done me no injury; yet in obedience to 
you, who say you are my father and call me your child, I 
received the hatchet. 

Father ! You may perhaps think me a fool for risking my 
life at your bidding, in a cause too, by which I have no 
prospect of gaining any thing ; tor it is your cause and not 
mine. 

It is your concern to fight the Long Knives ; you have 



specimens of Indian eloquence. 205 

mised a quarrel amongst yourselves, and you ought your- 
selves to fight it out. You should not compel your chil- 
dren, the Indians, to expose themselves to danger for your 
sokes. 

Father ! Many lives have been lost on your account ! 
Nations have suffered and been weakened ! Children 
have lost parents, brothers, and relatives ! Wives have lost 
husbands ! 

Father ! You say you love your children, the Indians. 
This you have often told them ; and it is your interest to 
say so to them, that you may have them at your service, 

"Now, Father ! Here is what has been done with the 
hatchet you gave me, (handing the stick with the scalp on it ) 
1 have done with the hatchet what you ordered me to do, 
and found it sharp. Nevertheless I did not do all that I 
might have done. 

No, I did not. My heart failed within me. I felt com- 
passion for your enemy. Innocence had no part in your 
quarrels 5 therefore I distinguished — I spared. 

I took some live flesh, which, while t was bringing to 
you, I spied one of your large canoes, on which I put it 
for you. In a few days you will receive ihxs flesh, a.ndfind 
that the skin is of the same colour with your own. 

Reported by Rev. J. Heckewelder. 



CORNPLANt's speech to WASHINGTON, IN 1790. 

Father, when your army entered the country of the Six 
Nations, we called you the Town destroyer, and to this day, 
when your name is heard, our women look behind them and 
turn pale ; our children cling close to the necks of their 
mothers; but our counsellors and warriors, being men, can- 
not be afraid. But their hearts are grieved by the fears of 
our women and children ; and desire that the hatchet may 
be buried so deep as to be heard of no more. 

Father, we will not conceal from you that the Great 
Spirit and not man has preserved Cornplant from the 
hands of his own nation. For they ask continually where 
is the land which our children and their children are to lie 
down upon ? 

18 



20G A striking example of the power of custora. 

You told us, say tliej, that a line drawn from Pennsyl- 
vania to Lake Ontario would mark it forever on the east ; 
and a line running from Beaver Creek to Pennsylvania 
would mark it on the west. But we see that it is not so. 
For first one and then another comes and takes it away by 
order of that people who you told us promised to secure it to 
us forever. Cornplant is silent, for he has nothing to answer. 

When the sun goes down, Cornplant opens his heart be- 
fore the Great Spirit ; and earlier than the sun appears 
again upon the hills, he gives thanks for his protection dur- 
ing the night; for he feels that among men, become des- 
perate by th^ injuries they sustain, it is God only that can 
preserve him. Cornplant loves peace, all he had in store 
he has given to those who have been robbed by your peo- 
ple, lest they should plunder the innocent to repay them- 
selves. 

The whole season which others have employed in provid- 
ing for their families, Cornplant has spent in endeavors to 
preserve peaces and at this moment his wife and children 
are l;^ing on the ground, and in M^ant of food. His heart is 
in pain for them ; but he perceives that the Great Spirit 
will try his firmness in doing what js right. 

Fathei ! innocent men of our nation are killed one after 
another, though of our best families; but none of your 
people, who have committed these murders have been pun- 
ished. We recollect that you did promise to punish those 
who should kill our people ; and we ask, was it intended 
that your people should kill the Senecas, and not only re- 
main unpunished, but be protected from the next of kin. 

Father ! these to us are great things. We know that 
you are very strong. — -We have heard that you are wise ; 
but we shall wait to hear your answer to this, that we may 
know that you are /«s^." . l)r. Baudinot. 



JVo. 89. A striking example of the power 
of custom. 

In judging of right and wrong there is perhaps nothing 
by which the minds of men are so fiequeuJj' misled as by 
the power of custom. 



A striking examjple of the 'power of custom . 207 

Few persons are aware how much the opinions and con- 
duct of men in general are governed bj this influence ; and 
probably no man is free from it, or aware how far liis own 
opinions and conduct are thus governed. 

This subject was suggested by reading the Letters of the 
late Rev. and pious John Newton, in which he gives an ac- 
count of the remarkable occurrences in his own life. 

When young he adopted the most dangerous opinions, 
and was eminently vicious. While of this character he be- 
came in some measure acquainted with seafaring business, 
and with that of the slave trade. 

At length he was suddenly stopped in his career of vice, 
made to reflect on his past impiety, to renounce his licen- 
tious principles, and to turn his thoughts to the concerns 
of his soul and religion. 

After he became, as he believed, and as was probably the 
fact, a true penitent, he readily engaged in the slave trade, 
first as a mate, and ther as a master of a vessel. This 
horrible traffic he pursued for several years, buying cargoes 
of human beings, in Africa, transporting them to the 
West-Indies, and selling them for slaves. Yet in writing 
his life he could say: — 

"During the time I was engaged in the slave trade, I 
never had the least scruple as to its lawfulness. I was 
upon the whole satisfied with it, as the appointment Prov- 
idence had marked out for me ; yet it was in many res- 
pects far from being eligible. 

" It is indeed accounted a genteel employment, and is usu- 
ally very profitable, though to me it did not prove so, the 
Lord seeing that a large increase of wealth would not be 
good for me. 

"However, I considered myself as a sort of gaoler or 
turnkey ; and I was sometimes shocked with an employ- 
ment that was perpetually conversant with chains, bolts 
and shackles " 

But how was it possible for a good man to follow this 
barbarous traffic without "the least scruple as to its law- 
fulness?"' How could Mr. Newton daily read the gospel, 
and be " conversant with'' the displays of divine mercy, 
with the amiable spirit of the Redeemer, aad his benignant 
precepts ; and still be " perpetually conversant with chains, 
bolts and shackles F" 



208 A striking example of the power ofcnstomi 

How could he every day look to Heaven for mercy, and 
ask the kind Father of all to prosper him in his pursuits, 
while his very business was an unmerciful trade in human 
Mihgs? 

How could he read the command " All things whatso- 
ever ye would that men should do unto you do ye even the 
same unto them," and still make use of his " chains, bolts 
and shackles ?" 

These questions involve difficulties which are not easily 
obviated, and inconsistencies which no man can reconcile. 
To admit that Mr. Newton was really a good man, while 
their was daily such incongruity in his conduct, requires 
an extent of candor and charity which many may be dis- 
posed to censure ', and perhaps none more readily than 
those, who need similar candor on account of similar in- 
consistencies, of which they are not aware. 

The ground on which I feel authorised to extend such 
candor, is this : good men are imperfect ; they know not 
every thing ; they have not examined every subject, and 
they are in a great measure under the dominion of generally 
approved opinions and customs. 

Mr Newton had not, it may be presumed, examined the 
subject when he engaged in the business, but proceeded on 
the ground of its being an approved employment, and one 
which was authorized by the government under which he 
live\l. 

Does it require greater liberality of sentiment to admit 
that Mr. Newton was a good man, while ^' conversant with 
chains, bolts and shackles," than is requisite to believe, that 
some good men have been as " conversant with" swords, 
guns and bayonets, lor the slaughter of fellow beings ? 

I see no greater difficulty in the former case than in the 
latter, excepting what results from the&e circumstances^ 
the slave trade has ceased to be popular, war has not. 

But if it be admitted that there have been good men so 
misled by custom as to follow the unchristian traffic in 
slaves^ without any " scruple as to its lawfulness,' this 
should teach us candor and caution, in judging of the char- 
acters of men whose education has been widely different 
frcsm our own. 



A striking example of (he power of custom. 209 

It should also excite suspicions that we maj yet be blind- 
ed by custom in other particulars ; it should lead i^s to t'le 
most careful examination of every opinion and custoin wl.!:'', 
we have adopted by education, and especially of those i ; 
which the rights of one class of men are violated by anoto v 

Notwithstanding all that has been said of this "enli- ii- 
"ened age," men are still liable to be influenced by cus« j-i ; 
and probably many things which are now generally a-ppro^-- 
ed. Will be abhorred by future generations, and clashed 
with the slave trade. 



ON PRIVATEERING. 

"How Custom steels the human breast 
To deeds which Nature's thoughts detest ! 
How Custom consecrates to fame 
What Reason else would give to shame ! 
Fair Spring supplies the favoring gale, 
The naval plunderer spreads his sail. 
And ploughing wide the watery way. 
Explores with anxious eyes his prey. 

" The man he never saw before. 
The man who him no quarrel bore. 
He meets, and Avarice prompts the fight ; 
And Rage enjoys the dreadful sight 
Of decks with streaming crimson died, 
And wretches struggling in the tide. 
Or midst the explosion's horrid glare, 
Dispers'd with quivering limbs in air. 

"The merchant now on foreign shores 
His captur'd wealth in vain deplores ; 
Quits his fair home, O mournful change ! 
For the Dark prison's scanty range ; 
By Plenty's hand so lately fed. 
Depends on casual alms for bread ; 
And, with a father's anguish torn, 
Sees his poor offspring left forlorn, 

" And yet — -such man's misjudging mind— 
For ail i^his iniurv to his kind, 

18* 



210 ' One hundred varieties of verse^ 

The prosperous robber's native plain 
Shall bid him welcome home again ; 
His name the song of every street 
His acts the theme of all we meet. 
And oit the artist's skill shall place 
To public view his pictur'd face ! 

'* If glory thus be earn'd — for me 
My object glory ne'er shall be ; 
No, first in Cambria's loneliest dale. 
Be mine to hear the shepherd's tale ! 
No, first on Scotia's bkakest hill. 
Be mine the stubborn soil to till ! 
Remote from wealth, to dwell alone 
And die, to guilty praise unknown !" 

John ScoU» 



^Yo 90. One Hundred Varieties of Verse, 

Adam ^as all in fears, and to his guide 
Lamenting turii'd full sad ; — O what are these ? 
Death's ministers, not men, who thus deal death 
Inhumanly to men, and multiply 
Ten thousand fold the sin of him who slew 
His brother! For of whom such massacre 
Make they but of their brethren, men of men ? 

Milton. 

2 

O thou whose power o'er moving worlds presides ! 
Wiiose voice created, antl wliose wisdom guides ! 
On darkling man, in fuil effulgence shine. 
And cheer the clouded miad with light divine I 
'Tis thine alone to cain the pious breast. 
With siUnt confidence and holy rest ; 
From tlii*^, great jod, vv - spring, iiy thee we tend — • 
Path, motive, guide, original and end. 

Johnson* 



One hundred varieties of verse, 211 

3 

A voice from the desert comes awful and shrill; 

The Lord is advancing, prepare je his way ! 

The word of Jehovah he comes to fulfil, 

And o'er the dark v/orld pour the splendor of day. 

Bring down the proud mountain, tho' tow'ring to heaven 

And be the low valley exalted on high ; 

The rough path and crooked be made smooth and even. 

For, Zion ! your King, your Redeemer is nigh. 

Brummond* 

4 

This earthly globe, the creature of a day. 
Though built by God's right hand must pass awav ! 
And long oblivion creep on mortal things. 
The fate of empires and the pride of kings ; 
Eternal night shall veil their proudest story. 
And drop the curtain o'er all mortal glory. 

Mrs, Barbauld, 
5 
How bless'd the sacred tie that binds 
In union sweet, according minds ! 
How swift the heavenly course they run 
Whose hearts, whose faith, whose hopes are onei 
Together both thej^ seek the place 
V here God reveals his glorious face : 
How high, how strong, their raptures swell, 
There's none but kindred souls can tell. 

Mrs. Barbauld. 
6 
Great God, the heaven's well ordered frame 
Declares the glories of thy name — 

There thy rich works with wonder shine, 
A thousand starry beauties there, 
A thousand radiant marks appear. 
Of boundless power and skill divine. 

7 
I'll bless Jehovah's glorious name, 
Whose goodness heaven and earth proclaim 

With every morning light ; 
And at the close of every day, 



212 One hundred varieties of verse. 

Miss Daye. 



To him mj cheerful homage pay. 

Who guards me through the night. 



8 

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense. 

But trust him for his grace; 
Behind a frowning providence. 

He hides a smiling face. 
His purposes will ripen fast. 

Unfolding every hour ; 
The bud may have a bitter taste 

But sweet will be the flower. 



Cowper. 



9 

Praise to thee thou great Creator, 

Praise to thee from every tongue ; 
Join my soul with every creature, 

Join the universal song. 
For ten thousand blessings given, 

For the hope of future joy, — 
Sound his praise through earth and heaven, 

Sound Jehovah's name on high. 

Fawcett 

10 

Sovereign Lord of light and glory ! 

Author of our mortal frame ! 
Joyfully we bow before thee, 
And extol thy holy name ; 

Hallelujah ! 
Ever sacred be the theme. 

Exeter Collection, 
11 
Far from these scenes of night, 
Unbounded glories rise, 
And realms of infinite delight. 
Unknown to mortal eyes : 
There sickness never comes ; 
There grief no more complains ; 
Health triumphs in immortal bloom, 
And purest pleasure reigns. 

Mrs* Steele, 



One hundred varieties oj vei'se. 2rS 

12 

Behold the trees in bloom — 
The fields all dress'd in green — 
The melody of birds — 
Transporting is the scene ! 
Awake ye sons of men. 
Appointed lords of earth, 
Your Maker's name adore. 
Who gave all nature birth. 

Repositortf. 

All glory be to God on high, 
To him all praise is due ; 

The promise is seal'd 

The Savior^s reveal 'd. 
And proves that the record is true. 

Madan^s Collection.. 

14 

A soul sincere. 

Scorns fraud and fear, — 
Within itself secure ; 

For vice will blast. 

But virtue last. 
While truth and time endure. 

Carey, 

Ye tribes of Adam join ! 

With heaven, and earth and seas. 

And offer notes divine 

To your Creator's praise. 

Wide as he reigns 

His name be sung 

By every tongue 

In endless strains. 



TVatts. 



16 

Let us awake our joys, 
Strike up with cheerful voice 

Each creature sing ; 
Angels — begin the song ; ^ 
Mortals — the praise prolong,— 



^14 One hundred varieties 0/ verse. 

In accents sweet and strong- 
Jesus is King. 



Kingsbury. 



One there is, above all others. 
Well deserves the name of Friend; 
His is love beyond a brother's 
Costly, free, and knows no end : 

They who once his kindness prove 

Find it everlasting love. 

XT ^ i« 

Ye palaces, sceptres, and crowns. 

Your pride with disdain I survey ; 

Your romps are but shadows and sounds. 

And pass in a moment away : 

The crown that my Savior bestows. 

Yon permanent sun shall outshine ; 

My loy everlastingly flows— 

My God, my Redeemer, is mine. 

Come thou Almighty King, 
Help us thy name to sing. 
Help us to praise : 

Father all glorious. 

O'er all victorious. 

Come and reign over us 
Ancient of days. 



JSTewton, 



Francis. 



20 
Watch, remember, seek and strive. 

Exert thy former pains. 
Let thy timely care revive. 

And strengthen what remains. 
Cleanse thy heart, thy works aiaend. 

Former times to mind recall. 
Lest my sudden stroke descend 

And smite thee once for all. 



Madan^s Collection^ 



Cowper* 



One hundred varieties of verse. 215 

21 

My shepherd's crook I'll give to thee ; — 
O no ! my father gave it me— 
And treasures by a parent given, 
From a fond child should not be riven — 
O no ! my father gave it me. 

JBogdanoviclu 

22 

Glory to God in full anthems of joy; 

The being he gave us, death cannot destroy. 
Sad were the life we must part with to-morrow. 
If tears were our birthright and death were our end, 
But Jesus hath cheer'd the dark valley of sorrow. 
And bade us, immortal to heaven ascend ; 

Lift then your voices in triumph on high. 

For Jesus hath risen, and man shall not die. 

Christian Disciple* 

23 

Then, while we mingle dust with dust, 

To One, supremely good and wise. 
Raise hallelujahs ! God is just. 

And man most happy when he dies ! 
His winter past. 
Fair spring at last 
Receives him on her flowery shore. 
Where pleasure's Rose 
Immortal blows. 
And sin and sorrow are no more ! 

Mallet. 

24 

You gave me last week a young linnet, 

Sliut up in a fine golden cage ; 
Yet how sad the poor thing was within it — 
how it did flutter and ra^e ! 
Then he moped and he pined 
That his wings were confined. 
Till I open'd the doors of his den : 
Then so merry was he. 
And, because he was free, 
He came to his cage back again. 

Garrick, 



^16 One hundred varieties ofverst. 

25 

How pleasant 'tis to see, 
^ Kindred and friends agree, — 

Each in his proper station move 
And each fulfil his part, 
With sympathizing neart. 
In all the cares of life and love. 



'26 

No vi^ar nor battles sound 
Was heard the woHd around— 

No hostile chiefs to furious combat ran ; 
But peaceful was the night 
In which the prince of light. 

His reign of peace upon the earth began. 



Watts, 



Milton. 



27 
Praise to God, immortal praise. 
For the love that crowns our days ; 
Boun,teous source of every joy! 
Let thy praise our tongu; s employ ;— • 
For the blessings of the field 
For the stores me gardens yield ; 
For the vine's exalted juice. 
For the generous olive's use. 

Mrs, Barbauld. 

28 

O liight ! thou fairest first of things 
From whom all joy, all beauty springs ; 

O praise the Almighty Ruler of the globe 

Who useth thee as his imperial robe. 
Let the wide world his praises sing, 
From whom its various blessings spring: 

Let echoing anthems make his praises known 

On earth his footstool, as in heaven his throne. 

Bo$common, 



One hundred varieties of verse, ^ 21'K 

29 

My soul praise the Lord, 

Speak good of his name ! 
His mercies record, z 

His bounties proclaim ; 
To God their Creator, 

Let all creatures raise 
The song of thanksgiving, 

The chorus of praise. FarJc. 

so 
At the portals of thy house. 
Lord I we leave our mortal cares ; 
Nobler thoughts our souls engage. 
Songs of praise and fervent prayers. 
Pure and contrite hearts alone 
Find acceptance at thy throne. 

Taylor, 

SI 

Hail thou once despised Jesus— 

Thou didst free salvation bring ; 
By thy death thou didst release us 

From the tyrant's deadly sting ; 
Help, ye bright angelic spirits, 

Lend your loudest, noblest lays ; 
Join to sing our Saviour's merits. 

And to celebrate his praise. 

Rippon^s Collection, 

32 

And we a>:e told by wisdom's knowing ones. 

That there are multitudes of worlds like this I 
That yon unnumber'd lamps are glowing suns. 
And each a link amidst creation is ; — 
There dwells the Godhead too— there shines his wisdom's 

essence, — 
His everlasting strength—his all supporting presence. 

Lomonosov. 

33 

The evening-wind waking, 
Called up their soft sounds from the leaves as it roved : 

The green branches shaking. 
It kisses the harp— but the heart is unmoved ; 
19 



218 One hundred varieties of verse. 

Spring came, sweetly bringing 
Her eloquent train, 
And nature was ringing 
With rapture, enkindling gay smiles through the train. 

Zhukovsky, 

34 

No more let men who bear the Christian name, 
By fell ambition rouse the world to flame ; 
Correct, O God, the wrongs which fill the world with wo ; 
Let public robbers from their seats be hurled. 
And men of virtue rise to rule the world, — 
Then streams of love and peace, shall through the nations 
flow. 

Repository. 

35 

O my very soul is faded 

Joy and sympathy are fled. 

Nature is in darkness shaded. 

Love and friendship both are dead. 
The hope that brightened my days is gone 1 
O whither, my angel, art thou flown ? 
Too blest was I, too wild with bliss, 
For I lived and loved, and loved for this ! 

Zhukovsky* 

36 

Vexatious world, thy flattering snares 
Too long have held my easy heart ; 
And shalt thou still engross my cares ? 
Vain world, depart. 

Mrs, Steele^ 

37 

The poor man hung his head 

And to himself he said — 
"This is indeed beyond my comprehension;" 

Then looking round 

One friendly face he found. 
And said — " Pray tell me, why is wealth preferr'd ' 
To wisdom ?"— -" That's a silly question, friend !" 



One hundred varieties of verse. 319 

Replied the other — " have you never heard, 

A man may lend his store 

Of gold and silver ore, 
But wisdom none can borrow, none can lend ?" 

Khemnitzer^ 

38 

when will Christians know their Lord and Master ? 
When will they reverence his divine example. 
And cease — like Pagans — to bestow their praises. 

On princel}^ robbers ! 
Soon may that time come — then will martial glory. 
By just conceptions, lose its fatal lustre — 
Then shall the nations, freed from war volcanoes. 

Sing — Alleluia. ^* ^ 

The laws they were made for the little. 
The laws they were made for the little ; — 

In the hands of the strong 

All the ties that belong 
To justice and honor are brittle. 

Brooke^ 

40 

Hail, peaceful retirement, thy shades how serene ! 
With thee in all ages the wise have sought pleasure. 
Meditation and converse the sweet varied scene 

^Alternately measure. 
Here freely expatiate the rational powers, 
Thy aid, O divine contemplation, inspiring 
While wisdom and knowledge unlock their bright stores*. 
The mind still desiring. 

Mrs, Steeh. 

41 

Retire, my soul, within thyself retire. 
Away from sense and every outward show ; 
Now let my thoughts to lasting themes aspire. 

My knowledge now on wheels of fire, 
May mount and spread above, surveying all below. 

Watts^ 

42 

I'm tired with visits, modes, and forms. 
And flatteries paid to fellow worms ;— 
Their conversation cloys ; 



$2Q One hundred varieties of verse 

Their vain amours, and empty stuff,— 
But I can ne'er enjoy enough 
©f thy blest company, my Lord, thou chief of all my joys. 

Watts, 

43 

And must the man of wondrous mind, 
Kow his rich thoughts are just refined. 

Forsake our longing eyes r 
Reason at length submits to wear 
The wings of Faith ; and lo ! they rear 
Her chariot high, and nobly bear 

Her prophet to fne skies. 

Watts, 

44 

Vain man ! 'tis Heaven's prerogative, ^ 

To take what first it deigned to give. 

Thy tributary breath : 
In awful expectation placed, ^ 

Await thy doom, nor impious haste. 
To pluck from God's right hand, his instruments of death. 

Warion on Suicide^ 

45 

Ye shades where sacred truth is sought, 

Groves where immortal sages taught. 

Where heavenly visions Plato fir'd. 

And Epicurus' lay inspir'd ; 

In vain your guiltless laurels stood. 

Unspotted long with human blood ; 
War, horrid war, your thoughtless walks invade, 
And steel now glitters in the muses' shade. 

Pope, 

46 

Now, now, while my strength and my youth are in bloom, 
Let me think what will serve me when sickness shall come^ 

And pray that my sins be forgiven : 
Let me read in good books, and believe and obey. 
That when death turns mh out of this prison of clay, 

I may dwell in a palace in heaven. 

Watts. 



Owe hundred varieties of verse, 221 

JtJst such is the Christian : his course he begins 
Like the sun in the mist, when he mourns for his sins 
And melts into tears ; then he breaks out and shines. 

And travels his heavenly way : 
But when he comes nearer to finish his race. 
Like a fine setting sun, he looks richer in grace, 
And gives a sure hope at the end of his days, 

Of rising in brighter array. Watts. 

48 

The traveller doubtful of his way. 

Upon the pathless forest wild ; — 
The huntsman, in the heat of day 

And with the tedious chase o'er toiled ; 
Wide their view around them cast, 

Mark'd the distant rustic tower. 
And sought and found the festive bower. 

And shared the free repast. 

J. Scott. 

49 

Though Fortune all her gifts denied, 

Though Learning made him not her choice. 

The Muse still placed him at her side. 
And bade him at her smile rejoice — 

Description still her pen supplied. 

Pathos his thought, and melody his voice ! 

J. Scott. 

50 

Ah, how silly is the drinker. 
Swallowing more than he can need. 

To the eye of every thinker 
He must seem a fool indeed. 
So he hurts his constitution, 

Adding drunkenness to thirst i 
All for want of resolution, 

Not to yield to drink at first 

JiutJiov UnknoiJbn* 

51 
Come, heaven-born faith, fair seraph, come ; 
How weak the muse's power without thy aid ! 
Thy ladiant eye can pierce the gloom, 
19^ 



0^^ One hundred varieties of vers ti 

Can guide the doubtful flight; 
Beyond the seats of night, 
And point afar 
The morning star 
Which cheers with heaven's sweet dawn this mortal shade f 

Mrs, Steele. 

Fancy ever fond of change^ 
Free and unconfined would range ; 
New wishes still/new hopes, new ardor rise ; 

From joy to joy she flies. 
Restless, insatiate— the short rapture past. 
She hates this moment, what she loved the last, 
■ ..Of one vast world exhausts the mighty store, 
Then, like the Macedonian, sighs for more. 

MeVi Henry Moortr 

3Q 
Forced from home and all its pleasures, 

Afric's coast I left forlorn ; 
To increase a stranger's treasures. 

On the raging billows borne. 
Men from England bought and sold me. 

Paid my price in paltry gold ; 
But though slave they have enroU'd me. 
Minds are never to be sold. 

Cowper. 
64 
^^he rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a shower 

Which Mary to Anna convey'd. 
The plentiful moisture encumber'd the flower 

And weigh'd down its beautiful head. 
The cup was all fiU'd, and the leaves were all wet^ 

And it seem'd to a fanciful view. 
To weep for the buds it had left with regret. 
On the flourishing bush where it grew. 

Cowper. 

55 
I hate that drum*s discordant sound 
Parading round, and round, and round | 



One hundred varieties of verse* 22o 

To me it talks of ravaged plains, 
And burning towns and ruin'd swains. 
And mangled limbs, and dying groans, 
And Widows" tears, and orphans" moans, 
And all that misery's hand bestows. 
To fill the catalogue of human woes. 

J. ScotU 

56 
United, let us all those blessings find. 
The God of nature meant mankind ; 
Whate'er of error, ill redrest. 
Whatever of pass^ion, ill represt, 
"Whate'er the wicked have conceived. 
And folly's heedless sons believed, — 
Let all be buried in oblivion's flood. 
And our great cement be, — the public good. 

JVhitehead, 
57 
Parent of life ! refulgent lamp of day ! 
Without, whose genial animating ray 
Men, beasts, the teeming earth, and rolling seas. 

Courts^ camps, and mighty cities, in a trice. 
Must share one common lot, intensely freeze. 

And all become one solid mass of ice ; 
Ambition would be froze, and Faction numb. 
Speeches congeal'd, and Orators be dumb. 

JenyH^i 

58 
Ere the foundation of the earth was laid. 
Or brightest firmament was made. 
Ere matter, time, or place was known. 
Thou, Monarch Darkness, sway'd these spacious realms 
alone. 

Talden^ 

39 
Happy the man whose wish and care, 
A few paternal acres bound. 
Content to breathe his native air 

In his own ground. 
Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, 
"Whose flocks supply him with attire, 



Si4 One hundreSi varieties of verse. 

Whose trees in summer yield him shade — 
In winter fire. 

Pope* 

60 

Bid Truth arise confest. 
In all her pure unborrowed graces drest, 
Darting full radiance o'er mj ravish'd soul ! 

Let each idea there 

Her lov'd resemblance wear 
Enlarg'd, sublime, and rapt beyond the pole. 

Rev, H, Moore. 

61 

Come let us arise. 

And aim at the prize. 
The hope of our calling on this side the skies. 

J5y works let us show> 

That Jesus we know ; 
While steadily on to perfection We go* 

62 

The scatter'd clouds are fled at last. 
The rain is gone, the winter's past. 
The lovely vernal flowers appear. 
The feather'd choirs invite our ear ; 

Now with sweetly pensive moan 

Coos the turtle dove alone. 

63 

Jesus, transporting sound ! 

The joy of earth and heaven ! 
No other help is found. 
No other name is given. 
By which we can salvation have; 
But Jesus came the world to save* 

64 

By faith we are come. 

To our permanent home. 
By hope we the rapture improve *, 

By love we still rise. 

And look down on the skies ; 
For the heaven of heavens is love*' 



One hundred varieties of verse, 225 

65 
Sing we the host of heaven 

Reconciled 

By a child 
Who to us is given. 
Glory be to God the giver ; 

Peace and love 

From above 
Reign on earth forever ! 

66 

Head of thy church triumphant, 

We joyfully adore Thee, 
Till Thou appear, Thy members here 

Shall sing like those in glory. 
We lift our hearts and voices 

With blest anticipation ; 
And cry aloud, and give to God^ 

The praise of our salvation. 
67 ^ ; 
Weary world, when will it end, 

Destined to the purging fire ? 
Fain 1 would to heitvcn ascend, 

Thitherward I still aspire. 
Saviour, this is not my place. 
Let me die to see thy face. 

68 
Come let us anew, 
Our journey pursue. 
Roll round with the year, 
And never stand still till the Master appear ; 
His adorable will. 
Let us gladly fulfil. 
And our talents improve. 
By the patience of hope and the labor of love.* 

69 

Weep with me, all you that read 

This little story ; 
And know for whom a tear you shed 

Death's self is sorry. 

* The last eight varieties were from Harmonia Sacra; authors not 
named. 



226 One hundred varieties of verse, ^ 

'Twas a child that so did thrive 

In grace and feature. 
As heaven and nature seem'd to strive 

Which own'd the creature. 

Ben Johnson* 

70 

Let the wide world his praises sing, 

From whom its various blessings spring: 

Let echoing anthems make his praises known. 

On earth his footstool, as in heaven his throne. 

Roscommon, 
11 
They smote thy cheek with many a ruthless palm. 

With the cold spear thy shuddering side they pierced ; 
The draught of bitterest gall was all the balm. 

They gave, t'enhance thy unslaked, burning thirst ! 
Thou, at whose words of peace 
Did pain and anguish cease, 
And the long buried dead their bond of slumber burst 

MUman« 

72 
Sing to the Lord! no more the dead are laid 
Li cold despair beneath the cypress shade, 

To sleep the eternal sleep that knows no morn : 
There, eager still to burst death's brazen bands. 
The Angel of the Resurrection stands ; 

While on his own immortal pinions borne. 
Following the Breaker of the imprisoning tomb. 
Forth springs the exulting soul, and shakes away its gloom. 

Milman, 

73 

Now glory to the God, whose throne, 

Far from this world obscure and dim. 
Holds its eternal state alone 

Beyond the flight of seraphim : 
The God, whose one omnific word. 
Yon orb of flame obedient heard. 
And from the abyss in fulness sprang. 
While all the blazing heavens with shouts of triumph rang. 

Milman. 



One hundred varieties of verse. ^-27 

74 

Oh Jesus ! bj the strength thou givest still, 
And by our cheerful scorn of infamy and ill, 

Son of the highest, are thy children known : 

By all the exulting joy we irily feel 
Beneath the lictor's rod, or headman's biting steel. 

Triumphant Savior ! are we not thine own ? 

Oh Lord of glory, to the sire ascended. 
Like thine, our anguish soon shall be in rapture ended, 

And we shall stand thy starry host among. 
And round the sapphire throne swell high the Hosanna song. 

Milman, 
75- 
Glory ! glory ! glory! the Lord Almighty liveth, 
The Lord almighty doth but take the mortal life he giveth. 
Glory ! glory ! glory ! the Lord Almighty reigneth 
He who forfeits earthly life, a life celestial gaineth. 

Milmam 

76 
ODE TO THE OLIVE TREE. 

Man, from his early Eden driven. 
Received thee from relenting Heaven, 

And thou the whelming surge above. 
Symbol of pardon, deign'd to rear 
Alone thy willowy head, to cheer 

The wandering dove. Cliarlotte Smith, 

77 
As Spring to Summer hours gave way. 
And June approach'd beneath whose sway 
My lovely Fanny saw the day, 

I mark'd each blossom bower. 
And bade each plant its charms display 
To crown the favor'd hour. 

Charlotte Smith, 

78 
Forbear, rash man, forbear ! 
While yet thy rebel head the thunders spare : 
Ere yet the dread avengers of {heir Lord, 
The light'nings hear th* irrevocrjljle word 

To blast that impious thought. 
Which dares to charge Perfection with a fault. 

Rev* H. Moore, 



228 One hundred varieties of verse, 

79 
There is sorrow in thiiie eye, 

Ah ! that look but feigns repose. 
Not with rapture swelling high. 
Thou mayst smile,— but in thy sigh. 
There was sadness as it rose. 

JDr. Brown* 

80 

All glows, and lives, with mingled fire. — 
Warm to the Sun, that wafts his warmth divine. 
Hark ! Nature's thousand hymns aspire ! 
She heaps the blazing shrine : ' 
Nor cold the kindling incense shed 
The fire-quick odours rise, and share the flame they spread. 

Br, Brown. 

81 

- Upon a day as Love lay sweetly slumbering, 
All in his mother's lap ; 
A gentle Bee, with his loud trumpet murmuring. 
About him flew by hap. 

Whereof when he was wakened by the noise. 

And saw the beast so small ; 
What's this ! quoth he, that gives so weak a voice. 

That wakens men withal ? 



•'I 82 

Little tuing, 
1 would sing. 
Lofty song, 
Measure long: 
But 1 fear 
That thine ear 
Such a poem could not bear. 

Gay. 

83 

God save the King and Parliament, 
And eke liis Prince's highness. 
And quickly send 
The vvai s an end, 
As here my song has — Finis. 

^ Butler. 



Owe- hundred varieties of verse. 229 

84 

As when the dove 

Laments his love 

All on the naked spray. 

When he returns 

No more she mourns, 

But loves the livelong day : 

Billing, cooing. 

Panting, wooing;. 



Gay. 



Waller. 



Melting murmers fill the grove. 
Melting murmers; lasting love. 

85 
'Tis not your beauty can engage. 

My wary heart ; 
The sun, in all his pride and rage 

Has not that art ; 
And yet it shines as bright as you, 
If brightness could our soul subdue* 

86 

'Twas in a land of learning, 
The Muses' favorite city. 
Such pranks of late 
Were play'd by a rat 
As tempt one to be witty. 

All in a college study 

Wliere books were in great plenty, 

This rat would devour 

More sense in an hour 

Than I could write in twenty. 

Shenstonei 

87 
Go, lovely rose ! 
Tell her that wastes her time and me, 

That now she knows. 
When I resemble her to thee, 
How sweet and fair she seems to be. 

Walkr 
20 



280 One hundred varieties of verse 

88 

Guard thou the sheep 
To her so dear ; 
My own, alas ! 
Are less my care. 

But of the wolf 

If thou'rt afraid 

Come not to us 

To call for aid. Prior, 

89 ^ ■ ) 

ADDRESS TO LIGHT. (K 

The violet, Spring's little infant, stands. 
Girt in thy purple swaddling bands : 
On the fair tulip thou dost doat ; 

Thou cloth'st it in a gay and party-coloured coat. 

With flame condens'd thou dost thy jewels fix. 

And solid colours in it mix ; 

Flora herself envies to see 
Flowers fairer than her own, and durable as she. 

Cowley. 

90 

Sweet Peace, divinely mild ! 

Fair Innocence's child ! 
With looks of rapture such as seraphs wear 

Come, graceful in thy hand. 

Waving thy olive wand. 
And speaking melody, that charms Despair ! 
Come, and my busy passions' strife control 
Breathe thy soft airs, and smooth my ruffled soul ! 

Eev. H. Moore. 

91 

What wight is he. 
To me unknown 
That wakes my sense 
To trouble new ? 
Snow'd o'er with snows 
By showers beat 
All drench'd with dews 
Dead lay along. 

Descent of Odin, 



One hundred varieties of verse. 231 

92 

Without a sigh 
He bid the world adieu : 

Without one pang 
His fleeting spirit flew. 

Forter^s Journal, 

93 

Thou, who wast moved with Mary's grief. 
And by absolving of the thief 
Hast given me hope, now give relief. 
Prostrate my contrite heart I rend. 
My God ! my Father! and my Friend, 
Do not forsake me in my end. 

Roscommoji. 

94 

Heaven ! is thy vengeance then a sounding name ? 
Sleep all thy thunders ? quench'd is all thy flame ? 
Shall bold oppression still defy, 
^The wrath and justice of the sky ? 
No ! There's an awful hour. 
When injured Innocence shall mourn no more ; 
This doom Eternal justice has decreed 
" Proportioned wrath to every guilty deed." 

Rev. H. Moore* 

95 

Rise, my soul ! on wings of fire 

Rise the rapturous choirs among ; 

Hark 'tis Nature strikes the lyre. 
And leads the general song : 

W^arm let the lyric transports flow. 

Warm as the ray that bids it glow. 

And animates the vernal grove 

With health, with harmony and love. Gray. 

96 
But, Friend ! the glory that proceeds 
From noble aims, from generous deeds, 
"Will ever flourish fresh and fair. 

In the bright gardens of the sky ; 
Old time can never enter there. 
And envy cannot soar so high, 

Mev, H. Moore. 



232 One hundred varieties of verse 

97 

WhdLt constitutes a state ? 
Not high raised battlements or labour'd mound. 

Thick wall or moated gate ; 
Not cities proud with spires and turrets crown'd ; 

Not bays and broad arm'd ports. 
Where laughing at the storm, rich navies ride, 

Not Starr \1 and spangled courts. 
Where low-brow'd baseness wafts perfume to pride. 

Sir W. Jones. 

98 

Or we sometimes pass an hour 

Under a green willow. 
That defends from a shower, 
Making earth a pillow ; 
Where we may 
Think and pray, 
Before death 
Stop our breath. 
Other joys ^ 

Are but toys 
And to be lamented. 

Author not recollected. 

99 

The numerous charms of spring are fruits of heavenly love. 
Their language is to men — Praise ye the Lord above. 
Then let our hearts unite, his goodness to proclaim. 
And Alleluia sing, to our Jehovah's name. 

Repository. 

100 

Yet while in sweet accordant measures move. 

The planetary choirs above ; 

While all to our great centre draw 

Of Love, their universal law ; 

Shall violence that scorns a bound 

Still waste this mourning world around ? 
Shall rebel vice make void the grand design, 
And v/ild disorder break the plan divine. 

Eev. H. Mqot% 



Dangerous influence of party passions. 233 

Xo. 91. Dangerous influence of Party 
Passions. 

Since the people of the United States became an inde- 
pendent nation, there has probably never been a period m 
which the influence of party passions was less predominant 
than at the present time. . . 

In reo;ard both to politics and religion, a more kind, dis- 
passionate, and conciliatory spirit now prevails than m 
many of the former years. .. ^ ^ . -i „ ;„ +u^ir. 

Ardent spirits and the spirit of party are simdar m their 
effects when taken to excess. Each ot them deprives men 
of their reason, and exposes them to manifold evds, incon- 
sistencies and calamities. ^. -. c ^^r^fv 

If any one desires to see a full length portrait of party 
spirit,with its genuine fruits, he may find it m the history of 
tlie French Revolution-in the conduct of the several pai- 
ties which successively rose to power and filled France with 
appalling scenes of carnage and horror. 

Each party made high professions of patriotism, of re- 
gard to public welfare, and of love of liberty and equality- 
while each regarded the other not only as a rival but an 
enemy, which must be sacrificed on the altar of public 

^"^ Similar portraits rfiay be found in the history^ of England, 
in the sanguinary contests between the families ot York 
and Lancaster, and also in the reign of Charles 1. 

Seldom have the residents of a mad house evinced a more 
perfect privation of reason and sound judgment, than did 
thousands of the people of England and France in the times 
of their insurrections and civil wars. • . a ' +k^ 

It may be said, that parties have long existed in the 
United States ; and that party spirit has often raged among 
us, but without producing such direful consequences. 

All this may be true, but it will not follow that party 
spirit among us has been of a different nature from that 
which produced such terrific effects m France and Eng- 
land. A difference of circumstances may occasion dit- 
ferent results. 

20* 



234 Dangerous influence of party passions. 

The population of our country has not been so great as 
the population of France or England; and the lower class- 
es of people among us have been generally better informed 
than in either of those countries. 

We have indeed reason to be thankful that our country 
has hitherto been spared from such awful and revolting 
scenes as those witnessed among our French and English 
brethren. Our history however is not unstained by re- 
cords of bloodshed, which resulted from party passions. 

It must therefore be desirable, if possible, to prevent the 
recurrence of such evils, and to prolong the present season 
ot tranquillity and friendly feeling. 

Party spirit, whether in politics or religion, generally 
originates with a few men. A small number of ambitious 
or envious men, of popular talents, can fill almost any 
country with confusion, mischief, and dismav, under the 
pretext of patriotism. "^ 

Bewildering the mind as to right and wrong, in the man- 
ner of pursuing an object, and in estimating characters and 
motives, are the more common and immediate effects of the 
dreadful disease. 

Party spirit is the spirit of war ; it tramples under foot, 
^^ ,°.V.".^ authority or use, the sacred requirements and 
prohibitions of the gospel. The laws of truth and equity, 
love and peace, are set aside as inapplicable to persons un- 
der the dominion of party passions. 

Let any one review the course of events in any country 
during the rage of these passions, and then inquire whether 
the partisans gave the least evidence of due regard to the 
command—" All things whatsoever ye would that men 
siiould do unto you, do ye even so unto them ?" 

Jf not, we may rationally infer, that party spirit is anti- 
cbristian and subversive of moral principle. As in public 
war, so in party contests, much is done by deception and 
Jalsehood, calumny and reviling; yet each party will con- 
demn these means when employed by the other, and they 
deserve to be condemned by all men. 

In the contests of parties in this land, thousands have 
been made to war against each other who really aimed at 
the same end—the good of their country ; and thou- 



Dangerous influence of jf arty passions. 235 

sands more have been enlisted who were ignorant of the 
grounds of controversy and of the real objects of their 
leaders. 

When partj spirit is once excited in society, it is kept 
ahve and increased by mutual accusation, recrimination, 
and indiscriminate censure. 

By such means the minds of the multitude are misled; 
the best characters are often considered as the worst, and 
the worst as the best ; and the feelings even of good peo- 
ple, of the different parties, become embittered one towards 
another. 

In consequence of the various means of irritation and 
excitement, the passions of parties are often raised to such 
a pitch, that, like some kinds of chemical powder, they are 
ready to explode with a trifling agitation. 

A nation is a great family ; and a family of fifteen or 
twenty persons is a nation in miniature. Would party 
spirit be useful in such a family ? or would it be desirable 
to divide the family into parties, that they might mutually 
watch each other and correct each other's errors ? 

mat would be the effect of their mutual jealousies ac- 
cusations, and levilings.P Every man of common sense 
can see, that party spirit would be a bad thing in a family 
ot such a small number of persons. How then can it be 
otherwise than a pernicious thing in a nation ? 

But what can be done to eradicate this evil or to prevent 
its prevalence and mischievous effects ? Amon^ the manv 
means which may be used for such a purpose, the following 
are perhaps worthy of some attention ; ^ 

First. Let all teachers, whether ministers of the sospel 
officers of colleges, or instructers of schools, unite their in- 
fluence to bring party spirit into disrepute— by showino-its 
pernicious tendency and effects, and by faithfully incultat- 
mg obedience to the benevolent precepts of the Messiah 

Second. Let the public Newspapers of our country be 
devoted to truth and peace ; let every thing of the nature 
of calumny or reviling be excluded; and let these papers 
be truly vehicles of good will to man, without distinction 
of nation or partj^ 

Third. Let our rulers regard themselves as fathers and 
guardians— as having been appointed to office, not to make 



236 Dangerous influence of party passions. 

them rich or great, but that they may be ministers of God 
for good to the family, in protecting its interests and ad- 
vancing its happiness. - 

And let it be the care of all m subordinate situations so 
to treat those in office, as shall be best adapted to encou- 
ao-e and induce them to discharge their duties m a taith^ 
ful, impartial manner, without regard to party names or 
interests. 

ON GOVERNING THE PASSIONS. 

« He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty ; 
and he that ruleth his spirit, than he that taketh a city. 

teOLOMON. 

« The man who rules with absolute control 
The angry passions, which deform the soul, 
A more important victory can boast 
Than he whose might has overcome a host. 

The soul is sicken'd and the heart is pain'd 
To trace the course of anger unrestrain'd. 
Blasting the pleasures of domestic life 
With bitter brawls, and scenes of savage strite. 

The wretched wight, who yields to anger's power, 

Has no security a single hour ; 

His life may e'en be forfeited for guilt 

Of guiltless blood, in furious transport spilt. 

Behold how bright the warrior's wreath appears, 
Planted in carnage, fertiliz'd with tears ! 
And trace his trophies of heroic ire 
Through seas of blood, and pyramids of fire . 

Behold the conqueror, who won the world. 
By ruthless rage from glory's zenith hurl'd 
Tost like a leather on the mountain wave, 
Lord of the globe, but passion's paltry slave I* 

* Alexander the Great, in a fit of anger, slew his foster brother Clytus, 
for which flagitious act he was struck with such remorse, that he at- 
tempted to starve himself. 



Volcanoes in the island of Java. 237 

Then he who rules with absolute control 
The angry passions, which deform the soul, 
A more important victory can boast 
Than if his might had overcome a host." 

Vermont Intellisiencer. 



JV*o. 92. Volcanoes in the Island of Java. 

There are in Java 38 large mountains which agree in 
the general attribute of Volcanoes— having a broad base, 
which gradually verges towards the summit^ in the form of 
a cone. 

Papandayang was formerly one of the largest volcanoes 
in that island ; but in August, 1772, the greatest part 
of it was swallowed up by a dreadful convulsion of the 
earth. 

It was estimated that an extent of ground belonging to 
the mountain itself, and to its immediate environs, ^fteen 
miles in length, and six in breadth, was by this commotion 
swallowed up in the bowels of the earth. 

Tankuban-Prahu is not only one of the largest moun- 
tains in the island, but a most interesting Volcano. Its 
crater is large, and has in general the shape of a funnel. 
The bottom of the crater has a diameter of nine hun- 
dred feet. 

Near the centre it contains an irregular oyal lake or col- 
lection of water, the greatest diameter of which is nearly 
300 feet. The water being white, it exhibits the appear- 
ance of a lake of milk, boiling with a perpetual discharge 
of large bubbles, occasioned by the development of fix- 
ed air. 

Towards its eastern extremity are the remaining outlets 
of the subterraneous fires — from which an uninterrupted 
discharge of sulphurous vapours takes place. These 
vapours rush out with incredible force, with violent sub- 
terraneous noises, resembling the boiling of an immense 
cauldron in the bowels of the mountain, 



238 Volcanoes in the island of Java, 

The explosions of mud are a great curiosity. This vol- 
canic phenomenon is in the centre of a limestone district, 
and IS first discovered, on approaching it from a distance, 
bj a large volume of smoke, which rises and disappears at 
intervals of a few seconds. 

On a nearer approach, a large hemispherical mass is ob- 
served, consisting of black earth mixed with water, about 
lb leet in diameter, rising up to the height of 20 or 30 feet 
m a perfectly regular manner. 

This mass suddenly explodes with a dull noise, and 
scatters in every direction a volume of black mud. After 
an interval of a few seconds, the hemispherical body of 
earth or mud again rises and explodes. 
In the same manner this volcanic ebullition goes on with- 
out interruption, throwing up a globular body of mud, and 
dispersing it with violence through the neighboring plain. 

This volcanic phenomenon is situated near the centre of 
the large plain which interrupts the series of the more con- 
siderable volcanoes. 

Tomboro is a mountain in the island of Sumbawa, one 
of the Javanese cluster. An eruption of this mountain in 
April, 1815, was feltover the whole of the Molucca islands, 
over Java, and a considerable portion of Celebes, Sumatra, 
and Borneo, to a circumference of a thousand statute miles 
irom its centre. 

On Java, a distance of 300 miles, it seemed to be awfully 
present. The sky was overcast at noon day with a cloud 
of ashes; the sun was inveloped in an atmosphere, the 
palpable density of which it was unable to penetrate. 

Showers of ashes covered the houses, the streets, and 
the fields, to the depth of several inches ; and amidst this 
darkness, explosions were lieard at intervals, like the re- 
port of artillery, or the noise of distant thunder. 

Every one conceived that the effects experienced might 
be caused by eruptions of some of the volcanoes on the 
island ; but no one could have conjectured that the shower 
of ashes which darkened the air and covered the ground of 
the eastern district of Java, could have proceeded from a 
mountain in Sumbawa, at the distance of three hundred 
miles. 



Natural and Martial volcanoes compared. 239 

The first explosions were heard at Java the 5th of 
April. On the evening of the 10th the eruptions were 
loud and more frequent. On the following day, the ex- 
plosions were so tremendous as to shake the houses per- 
ceptibly in the more eastern districts. 

In the island of Sumbawa itself, there was a great loss 
of lives, and the surviving inhabitants were reduced to ex- 
treme misery. The whole mountain appeared like a body 
of liquid fire, extending itself in every direction. 

Stones and ashes were precipitated ; and a whirlwind 
ensued, which blew down the greater part of the houses in 
an adjoining village. It tore up by the roots the largest 
trees, and carried them into the air, together with men, 
horses, cattle, and whatever came within its influence. It 
is calculated that 12,000 individuals perished. 

Clarke. 



JVo. 93. Natural and Martial Volcanoes 
compared. 

In preceding Numbers some account has been given of 
the desolations made by natural volcanoes. Such de* 
scriptions excite a degree of astonishment, sympathy and 
horror. 

But there is another species of valcano, far more de- 
structive to mankind than those which have been de- 
scribed ; many of which have existed in Europe, and in 
other quarters of the globe. 

An ambitious, blood thirsty war maker, is a martial vol- 
cano, whose eruptions have been more horrible than any 
which have been recorded of Etna, Cotopaxi, or any other 
natural volcano of the earth. 

One Tamerlane or Ghengis Khan — one Alexander or 
Cesar — one Edward III, or Charles V. — one Frederic of 
Prussia, or Philip of Spain— one Louis XIV or Napoleon 
of France, has probably caused more misery and desolation, 
than all the volcanoes of Europe, or of any other quarter of 
the world. 



240 Kaiural and Martial volcanoes compared. 

An earthquake which should swallow up all Europe, 
would produce less misery, and less destruction of human 
life, than has been caused by the martial volcanoes of that 
part of the globe. 

Yet such has been the infatuation of our race, that no 
other men have been so much praised as these military 
destroyers. The murderers of millions have long been 
held in admiration, if not adored, by a deluded world. 

Who is not astonished when he hears that Etna or Co- 
topaxi has sent forth rivers of burning lava to the extent 
of 20 or 30 miles, spreading ruin and horror throughout 
its course ? 

But what is all this when compared with the extent to 
which the flaming lava has spread, which has issued from 
the crater of a wanton volcanic Prince ! 

The eruptions of one martial volcano have desolated 
whole provinces, and spread the flames of destruction for 
hundreds, and even thousands of miles in various di- 
rections. 

In one eruption of Tomboro the ashes of the explosion 
extended to Java, a distance of 300 miles, and filled the 
inhabitants witk consternation and dismay ; but the explo- 
sions of a martial volcano have caused the death and ruin 
of multitudes of men, more than 3000 miles from the 
crater. 

«' Volcanoes bellow ere they disembogue !" 

Their eruptions too are preceded by terrific, menacing 
smoke, which indicates an explosion. It is thus with vol- 
canic Princes. 

For a considerable time previous to a violent eruption, 
such Princes cause to be heard in all the adjacent coun- 
tries loud bellowings of complaints, and cries of insult 
and danger. 

Next is seen a smoking manifesto — " breathing out 
threatenings and slaughter" — the heat of which clearly in- 
dicates an infernal origin. 

This is soon followed by the explosion of volcanic, 
ignited substances, and boiling lava, which overspreads 
whole countries with misery, death, and horror, lamen- 
tation and wo. 



The Wild Girl. 241 

Thus one martial volcano not more than six feet Iiigh, 
with a crater less than six inches in circumference, has 
done more mischief in one year, tlian Etna has done in 
ten centuries, with a height of tv/o miles, and a " crater sel- 
dom less than a mile in circuit." 

The name volcano was probably derived from Vulcan, 
the fabulous " god of subterranean fire." It may then 
with justice be applied to the military destroyer, whose 
" tongue is a fire, a world of iniquity, that setteth on fire 
the course of nature, and is set on fire of hell." 



Xo. 94^. The Wild Girl. 

In 1731, as a nobleman was shooting, at Songi, near 
Chalons, in Champagne, he saw at a distance in the water, 
something which he took for a couple of birds, and at 
which he fired 

The supposed birds avoided the shot by diving, and ris- 
ing at another place, made to the shore, when it appeared 
that they were two children, nine or ten years of age. 

One of these children returned to the river and was 
never afterwards seen ; the other went to the village of 
Songi. The inhabitants were frightened at her singulrtr 
appearance. 

They set a great dog at her ; but she waited his attack 
without stirring from her place, and as so3ti as he was 
within reach, gave him such a blow with her club, as laid 
him dead on the spot. 

Unable to gain admission into any house, she returned 
into the fields, climbed up a tree, and there took her repose. 

The Viscount d'Epinoy offered a reward to any one who 
would catch this wdd girl. At length she was allured to 
come down by a w^oman who walked under the tree with 
a child in her arms, and offered her fish and roots. 

When she had descended, some persons lying in wait 
seized her and conveyed her to the Viscount's seat. At 
first she was taken iato the kitchen, where she fell upon 
21 



242 The Wild Girl. 

some wild fowl, and ate them up before the cook missed 
them. 

The Viscount delivered her to the care of a shepherd, 
recommending to him to be extremely attentive to her, 
under a promise of paying him well for his trouble. 

[t cost a great deal of trou^ble to render her a little tame. 
Once she eloped in a severe frost, during a heavy fall of 
snow, and after a long search was found sitting on a tree 
in the open fields. 

Nothing was more astonishing than the swiftness and 
agility with which she ran. She did not take long steps 
like other people, but her run was rather a flying trip, 
which was more like gliding than walking. 

Several years after she had been caught she was capable 
of outstripping wild animals, which she proved to the queen 
of Poland in 1737 : being taken out on a hunting party, she 
ran after rabbits and hares that were started, caught them 
presently, and brought them to the queen. 

In her savage state she had no language, but a sort of 
wild scream, which sounded frightfully when she was in 
anger, and particularly when a stranger attempted to take 
hold of her. 

Long afterwards her speech had something wild, abrupt, 
and childish ; but when she was a little civilized, she ap- 
peared to be a quick, lively girl. 

There was nothing, from which she was piore difficult to 
be weaned, than eating flesh and vegetables raw. Her 
stomach could not bear dressed victuals. 

Once the Viscount had a great deal of company and she 
sat at table with them. None of the high seasoned dishes 
beino- to her taste, she started up, vanished like lightning, 
filled her apron with live frogs from the nearest pool, has- 
tened back, and bestowed them among the guests with 
a liberal hand, joyfully exclaiming—" here, here, take 
some !" 

In the year 17S2, this remarkable maiden was baptized 
bv the name of Maria le Blanc. On account of the change 
in her mode of life she was often ill, and, after the death 
of her patron, spent the remainder of her days in a 
convent. 



Amiahle traits in the character of the Indians. 243 

How this child came into that wild state, and in what 
countiy she was boin, could never be known with cer- 
tainty. It was conjectured that she was an Esquimaux, 
brought to Europe in some ship. 

For when she had learned to talk, she said that she had 
twice crossed the sea — ga\e a description of boats resem- 
bling the Esquimaux ; and when she was shown a series 
of delineations of people of diSferent countries, she seemed 
agreeably surprised on coming to that in which the Esqui- 
maux were represented. 

Pleasing Preceptor. 



wNT[). 95. Amiable traits in the character 
of tlie Indians. 

There is no nation in the world who pay greater respect 
to old age than the American Indians. From their infan- 
cy they are taught to be kind and attentive to aged persons, 
and never to let them suffer for want of necessaries or 
comforts. 

The parents spare no pains to impress upon the minds 
of their children the conviction that they would draw down 
upon themselves the anger of the Great Spirit, were they 
to neglect those whom, in his goodness, he had permitted 
to attain an advanced age. 

It is indeed a moving spectacle to see the tender and de- 
licate attentions which, on every occasion, they lavish up- 
on aged and decrepid persons. 

When going out a hunting they will put them on a horse 
or in a canoe, and take them into the woods to their hunt- 
ing ground, in order to revive their spirits, by making them 
enjoy the sight of a sport in which they can no longer par- 
ticipate. 

At home, the old are as well treated and taken care of 
as if they were favorite children. They are cherished and 
even caressed ; indulged in health and nursed in sickness ; 
and all their wishes and wants anticipated. 



244 Amiable traits in the character of the Indians. 

Their company is sought by (he young, to whom their 
conversation is considered an honor. Their advice is ask- 
ed on ail occasions, their words are listened to as oracles. 

Nay, even the second childhood often attendant on extreme 
old age, is never with the Indians a subject of ridicule or 
laughter. Respect, gratitude and love are too predomi- 
nant in their minds to permit any degrading idea to mix 
with these truly honorable and geiierous feelings. 

Insanity is not common among the Indians ; yet I have 
known several who were afiiicted with mental derange- 
ment. Men in this situation are always considered as ob- 
jects of pity. 

Every one, young and old, feels compassion for their mis - 
fortune ; to laugh or scoff at t!iem would be considered as 
a ciime, much more sc to insult or molest them 

The nation or color of t\\Q unfortunate object makes no 
difference; the charity of the Indian extends to all, and no 
discrimination is made in such a lamentable case. 

Suicide is not considered by the Indians either as an act 
of heroism or of cow^ardice, nor is it with them a subject of 
praise or blame. They view this desperate act as the con- 
sequence of mental derangement, and the person v»'ho 
destroys himself is to them an object of pity. 

The first step that parents take towards the educa- 
tion of tlieir children, is to prepare them for future happi- 
ness, t)y impressing upon their tender minds, that they are 
indebted for their existence to a great, good, and benevolent 
Spirit, who not only has given them life, but has ordained 
ti>em for certain great purposes. ■ 

The parents nextproceeed to make them sensible of the 
distinction between good and evil, that good acts are pleas- 
ing to tise good Spirit, all that is bad proceeds from the bad 
Spirit who has given them nothing. 

instruction is given in the gentlest and most persuasive 
manner; nor is the parent's authority ever supported by 
harsh, corsipuisive m.eans; no whips, no punisliments, no 
tl)reats aie ever used to enforce commands or compel obe- 
dience. 

A lather needs only say in the presence of his children,, 
" I waiit such a thing done ; 1 want one of my chil- 



The benevolent John Howard. 245 

dren to go upon such an errand, Let me see who is the good 
child that will do it" 

This word good operates, as it were, by magic, and the 
children vie with each other to comply with the wishes of 
their parent. In this manner of bringing up children the 
parents are seconded by the whole community. 

If a child is sent from his father's dvyelling to carry a 
dish of victuals to an aged person, all in the house will 
join in calling him a good child. If a child is seen leading 
an old person, the villagers call on one another to look on 
and see what a good child that must be. When a child 
has committed a had act, the parent will sa^, " O ! how 

frieved 1 am that my child has done this bad act. I hope 
e will never do so again." This is generally effectual, 
particularly if said in the presence of others. 

Heckewelder, 



JVI9* 96. The benevolent Jolio Howard, 

This celebrated philanthropist, who devoted his life to 
the benevolent object of meliorating the condition of those 
who were confined in prisons, was born in the year 1726. 

That our young readers may have some correct views of 
this eminent man, and that they may learn to admire the 
benefactors of mankind, 1 shall give them an extract from 
Mr. Burke's eulogy : — 

" I cannot," says Mr. Burke, " name this gentleman 
%vithout remarking, that his labors and writings have done 
much to open the eyes and hearts of mankind. 

"He has visited all Europe, — not to survey the sump- 
tuousness of palaces, or the stateliness of temples ; not to 
make accurate measurements of the remains of ancient 
grandeur, nor to form a scale of the curiosity of modern 
art ; not to collect medals, or collate manuscripts :— but to 
dive into the depths of dungeons; to plunge into the in- 
fection of hospitals; to survey the mansions of sorrow and 
pain ; to take the gauge and dimensions of misery, depres- 
21* 



246 The benevolent John Howard. » 

sion r.nrl contempt; to remember the forgotten, to attend 
to the Leglected, to visit the forsaken, and compare and 
collate the distresses of all men in all countries. 

" His plan is original ; it is as full of genius as it is of hu- 
Bianitj. It was a voyage of discovery ; a circumnaviga- 
tion of charity. Already the benefit of his labor is felt 
more or less in every country: I hope he will anticipate 
his final reward, by seeing all its effects fully realized in 
his own." 

Mr. Howard often said that "he had no wish for life but 
as it gave him the means of relieving his fellow creatures." 
When he was about to leave England for the last time, a 
friend expressed his concern at parting with him, from 
an apprehension that they should never meet again. 

He cheerfully replied, "We shall soon meet in heaven,'* 
and as he rather expected to die of the plague in Egypt> 
he added " The way to heaven from Grand Cairo is as near 
as from London." He however did not die in Egypt, but at 
Cherson in Russia. The following lines were written, on 
the occasion of his death by Dr. Aiken. 

Howard, thy task is done ! thy Master calls. 

And summons thee from Cherson's distant v/alls. 

"Come, well-approv'd ! my faithful servant, come I 

No more a wanderer, seek thy destined home, 

Long have 1 mark'd thee with o'er-ruling eye 

And sent admiring angels from on high, 

To walk the paths of danger by thy side. 

From death to shield thee, and through snares to guide. 

My minister of good, I've sped thy way. 

And shot through dungeon glooms a leading ray. 

To cheer, by thee, with kind, unhop'd relief. 

My creatures lost and whelm'd in guilt and grief. 

I've led thee, ardent, on through wondering climes 

To combat human woes and human crimes. 

But 'tis enough ! thy great commission's o'er, 

1 prove thy faith, thy love, thy zeal, no more i 

Nor droop that far from country, kindred, friends^ 

Thy life, to duty long devoted, ends. 

Wfiat boots it where the high reward is given, 

Or whence the soul triumphant springs to heav'n l'^ 



Effects of Christianiiy on an Indian Chief. 247 

JVo. 97. Effects of Christianity on an 
Iiulian Chief. 

In the year 1742, a veteran warrior of the Lenape na- 
tion and Monsey tribe, renowned among his own people 
foi^^his bravery and prowess, and equally dreaded by their 
enemies, joined the Christian Indians w!io then resided at 
this place — Bethlehem. This man, who was then at an ad- 
vanced age, had a most striking appearance, and could not 
be viewed without astonishment. 

Besides that his body was full of scars, where he had 
been struck and pierced by the arrows of the enemy, there 
w^as not a spot to be seen, on that part of it which was ex- 
posed to view, but what was tattooed over with some draw- 
ing relative to his achievements, so that the wholfi togeth- 
er struck the beholder with amazement and terror. 

On his whole face, neck, shoulders, arms, thighs, and legs, 
as well as on his breast and back, were represented scenes 
of the various actions and engagements, he had been in ; 
in short, the whole of his history was there deposited, which 
was well known to those of his nation, and was such 
that all v/ho heard it thought it could never be surpassed 
by man. 

Far from murdering those who were defenceless or un- 
armed, his generosit}^ as well as his courage and skill in the 
art of war, was acknowledged by all When, after his 
conversion, he was questioned about his warlike feats, he 
frankly and modestly ansv/ered, 

"That being now taken captive by Jesus Christ, it did 
not become him to relate the deeds he had done w^iile in 
the service of the evil spirit; but that he was willing to 
give an account of the manner in which he had been con- 
querecV^ 

At his baptism, on the 23d of December, 1742, he re- 
ceived the name of Michael, which he preserved until his 
death, which happened on the 24th of July 1756. He led 
the life of a true Christian, and was always ready and 
willing to relate the iiistory of his conversion, which 1 heard 
- myself from his own mouth. His age, when he died, was 
supposed to be about eighty years. 

Heckewelder, 



24 8 Effects of Christianiiy on an Indian Chief. 



I DWELL with the tempest, and rock'd bj the storm, 

No pillow of luxury come 1 to crave, 
Sole lord of the brute, in whose tuis I am warm — 

Yet pity the Red Man, je sons of the wave. 

Ere the wide spreading ocean, now rolling so blue. 
Your ancestors bore from afar to our shore, 

These forests coinprisf^d all of pleasure we knew. 
Then pity the Red Man, thus happy no more ! 

Enamour'd of freedom, where cities arise, 

No bonds of coiilineinent these limbs should annoy; 

Yet there lies in your hands a superlative prize, 
Oh !' pity the Red Man, and bid him enj^j. 

You have laws which the beauty of order afford, 
V j.ich the savage ferocious compel to be tame; 

You speak, — and the passions are still at the word ! 
Then pity the Red Man,— and teach him the same. 

What is that which excites th' ineffable sigh, 

When the wretched their burdens of sorrow reveal. 

And espsesses communion of joy by the eye ? 
Declare to the Red Man, that he too may feel. 

You drink at the fountain of mental delights. 
Where streams intellectual deliciously roll; 

And while the rich banquet so sweetly invites. 
Ah ! pity the Red Man,— he too has a soul ! 

The comforts which civiliz'd manners impart. 
And the arts and the sciences blossom to give. 

Shine full on your breasts, and ennoble the heart; 
Then pity the Red Man, and teach him to live. 

Eut chief, — the blest name, to Christians so dear ! 

Your passport to mansions of glory on high, ' 

That JWme which supports you in death without fear ! 

Make known to the Red Man, and teach him to die. 

Evan* Mag, 



Mistakes of Men of humane feelings. 249 

rTo. 93. Mistakes of Men of humane 
feelings. 

It will to some appear singular, that the Slave Trade 
should have originated in an act of humanity ; yet such 
was the fact, and it exhibits an instance of one of the best 
and most humane of men being guilty of cruelty, when his 
mind was under the iniiuence of prejudice. 

Barthelemi de ins Casas, the Bishop of Chiapa, in Peru, 
witnessing the dreadful cruelty of the Spaniards to the [n- 
dians, exerted all his eloquence to prevent it. 

He returned to Spain, and pleading the cause of the In- 
dians before the Emperor Charles V. in person, suggested 
that their place as laborers might be supplied by negroes 
from Africa, who were then considered as beings under the 
proscription of their Maker, and fit only for beasts of 
burden. 

The Emperor, overcome by his forcible representations, 
made several regulations in 'favor of the Indians ; but it 
was not until the slavery of the African Negroes v.'as sub- 
stituted, that the American Indians were freed from the 
cruelty of the Spaniards. 

Persons who reflect on the deeds of horror with the re- 
collection of which the name of t^^.Q guillotine must ever 
be associated, maybe apt to regard as a monster the man 
who invented it. 

It is a curious fact, however, that it w^as the device of 
one of the most gentle and humane of men ; and that its 
introduction was solely prompted by a desire of diminish- 
ing the severity of capital punishment. 

M. Guillotin, whose name was transferred to his inven- 
tion, was a physician at Paris ; and being appointed a 
member of the National Assembly, attracted attention 
chiefly by a great mildness of disposition. 

On the first of Dec. 1789, he made a speech on the pe- 
nal code, remarkable for its philanthropic views ; and con- 
cluded by a proposal for substituting, as less cruel than the 
halter, the machine which has given to his name an odious 
immortality 

Nobody, we have been assured, deplored more bitterly 



250 Remarkable Works of Art. 

than M. Guillotin, the fatal use which was speedily 
made of his invention. 

When he perceived the course which the revolution was 
taking, he withdrew from all share in its direction, to the 
practice of his profession, in which he became distinguish- 
ed as much by his humanity as his skill. 

Fercy Jimcdotes. 



JVo. 99. Remarkable Works of Art. 

The Coliseum at Rome is upwards of 1,600 feet in cir- 
cumference, and of such an elevation that " the human eye 
scarcely measures its height." 

Its extent, as well as its elevation, may be estimated by 
the number of spectators it contained, amounting according 
to some accounts to 80,000, and others to 100,000. 

Thirty thousand captive Jews are said to have been em- 
ployed in its construction, by Vespasian. It was not fin- 
ished, however, till the reign of Titus. 

The Soman ^Amphitheatre at JS/ismes is of an oval figure, 
1,080 feet in circumference, sufiiciently capacious to con- 
tain 20,000 spectators. It was built in the reign of Anto- 
nius Pius. 

St. Peter^s Church at Home is the largest and most 
beautiful Church in the world. It is 720 feet long, 510 
broad, and 500 high. The height of the body of the c^iurch, 
from the ground to the upper part of the ceiling, is 432 
feet. 

Sixteen persons may place themselves in the globular 
top over the dome, which is annually lighted on the 29th of 
June, by 4000 lamps and 2000 fire-pots, presenting a 
most delightful spectacle. 

St. Paul's Cathedral at London. — The length of the 
Church, including the portico, is 510 feet ; the breadth 282 ; 
the height to the top of the cross 404 ; and the entire cir- 
cumference of the building 2292 feet. The Whispering 
Gallery is a very great curiosity. It is 140 yards in cir- 
cumference. A stone seat runs round the gallery along the 
foot of the wall. 



Remarkable IVorks of Art. 251 

On the side opposite the door by which the visiter enters, 
several yards of the seat are covered with matting, on which 
the visiter being seated, the man who shows the gallery 
whispers, with the mouth close to the wall, at the distance 
of 140 feet from the visiter, who hears his words in a loud 
Toice, seemingly at his ear. 

The mere shutting of the door produces a sound to those 
on the opposite seat like violent claps of thunder. The ef- 
fect is not so perfect if the man sits half way between the 
door and the matted seat, and still less so if he stands 
near the man who speaks, but on the other side of the door. 

Great Wall of China. Thisstupendous wall is conduct- 
ed over the summit of high mountains, across deep vallies, 
and over wide rivers, by means of arches. Its extent is 
computed at 1500 miles; in some parts it is 25 feet in 
height, and at the top about 15 feet thick. 

Dr. HerschePs Grand Telescope. The tube is 39 feet 
4 inches in length, and 4 feet 10 inches in diameter, every 
part being made of iron It was begun in 1785 and com- 
pleted August 28th, 1789. It magnifies sijn thousand 
times. 

English Telegraph. By this invention " a message from 
London to Portsmouth" — ^distance upwards of 70 miles, — 
is usually transmitted in about 15 minutes ; but, by an ex- 
periment, tried for the purpose, a single signal has been 
transmitted to Plymouth and back again in Siree minutes, 
which by the Telegraph route is at least 500 miles." 

•i new Printing Press or Printing Engine, in London, 
"is wrought by the power of steam, and, with the aid of 
three boys, perfects nearly 1000 sheets per hour." 

London tVater Works. The J^ew River Works, at Is- 
lington, " discharge every 24 hours 214,000 hogsheads of 
sixty three gallons each." This exceeds the rate of 8916 
hogsheads every hour, or 165 hogsheads every minute. 

The Sleam Engine consists of a large cylinder or bar- 
rel, in which is fitted a solid piston like that of the forcing 
pump. An engine, having a cylinder of 31 inches diame- 
ter, and making 17 double strokes a minute, performs the 
work of 40 horses, working night and day, for which three 
relays, or 120 horses, must be kept. 



252 Fire at Baku. 

The Diving Bell is founded on the elasticity of air ; bj 
the means of which an operator descends to any depth of 
water, and remains there several hours. Weights are plac- 
ed at the bottom to prevent it from turning, and a forcing 
pipe sends in fresh air. darkens Wonders, 



JVo. 100. Fire of Baku. 

The city of Baku, on the borders of the Caspian sea, 
has long been famous for its springs of naptha, a species 
of bitumen, or fossil oil which is white, light, fluid, and 
highly inflammable. 

About two miles from one of the purest naptha springs 
is a singular spot, called the Place of Fire, The place is 
near three quarters of a mile over ; in the middle of it 
may be seen a strong bluish yellow flame. 

At a little distance from this flame, the Guebres, an 
Asiatic people, and other poor persons have built little 
stone habitations. The ground within the room, which 
these huts contain, is covered with a floor of clay, a foot 
thick, rammed down hard, that the flame may not burst 
through. 

In one place, however, a hole is left in the clay floor, to 
furnish fire when necessary. When the host has occasion 
to boil his coiFee, or dress his food, he holds a lighted can- 
dle or a bit of burning paper over the hole, and a flame is 
immediately produced, which he knows how to. employ 
better than he would a fire made of coals or wood. 

The smaller the opening is, with the more force rises the 
flame. When the fire is no longer wanted, the host blows 
it out with a fan, or the flap of his garment, and then cov- ; 
ers the hole. v 

These people procure light in the same manner. Into a 
slender hole made through the clay floor, they stick a reed 
of a proper height, coated inside and outside with clay, 
and kindle the vapor as it issues out at the top. 

The weavers have several such round their looms, which 
affoid them an ample supply of light, without requiring to 
be trimmed or renewed. 



Monitions on the flight of Time. 253 

Besides this consuming fire, there is ano-her kind at Ba- 
ku, which does not burn. After a warm autumnal rain, 
the fields round Baku appear in flames. It frequently 
seems as though huge volumes of fire rolled' down the 
mountains with incredible velocity. 

In October and November, on clear moonlight nights, all 
the mountains west of Baku often appear enveloped in a 
blue flame. In warm and dark nights, innumerable flames 
cover the plains ; and then the mountains are free from 
them 

This fire burns nothing. The dry grass and reeds re- 
main unsinged, though the whole courtry appears in flames. 
It does not even yield the least heat. This fire, as it is 
called, must be merely a luminous appearance, and totally 
distinct from the other. 

Pleasing Preceptor, 



JVo. 101. Monitions on the ilight of Time. 

Whatever we see on every side reminds us of the lapse 
of time, and the flux of life. The day and night succeed 
each other, the rotation of seasons diversifies the year, the 
sun rises, attains the meridian, declines, and sets; and the 
moon every night changes its form. 

The day has been consitlered as an image of the year, 
and the year as the representation of life. The morning 
answers to the spring, and the spring to childhood and 
youth ; the noon corresponds to the summer, and the sum- 
mer to the strength of manhood. 

The evening is an emblem of autumn, and autumn of de- 
clining life. The night with its silence and darkness shews 
the winter, in which all the powers of vegetation are be- 
numbed ; and the winter points out the time when life shall 
cease, with its hopes and pleasures. 

He that is carried forward, however swiftly, by a motion 

equable and easy, perceives not the change of place 

but by the variation of objects. If the wheel of life, 

which rolls thus silently along, passed on through undis- 

22 ' ^ " 



254 Monitions on the flight of Time. 

tinguishable uniformity, we should never mark its ap- 
proaches to the end of the course. 

If one hour were like another ; if the passage of the sun 
did not show that the day is wasting ; if the change of sea- 
sons did not impress upon us the flight of the year ; quanti- 
ties of duration equal to da:ys and years would glide unob- 
served. 

If the parts of time were not variously coloured, we 
should never discern their departure or succession, but 
should live thoughtless of the past, and careless of the fu- 
ture, without will and perhaps without power, to compute 
the periods of life, or to compare the time whicli is already 
lost with that which may probably remain. 

But the course of time is so visibly marked, that it is 
observed even by the birds of passage and by nations who 
have raised their minds very little above animal instinct. 
There are human beings whose language does not supply 
them with words by which they can number five, but 1 have 
read of none that have not names for day and night, for 
summer and winter. 

Yet it is certain that these admonitions of nature, how- 
ever forcible, however importunate, are too often vain ; and 
that many who mark with such accuracy the course of 
time, appear to have little sensibility of the decline of life : 
Every man has something to do which he neglects ; every 
man has faults to conquer which he delays to combat. 

So little do we accustom ourselves to consider the effects 
of time, that things necessary and certain often surprise 
us like unexpected contingencies. We leave the beauty 
in her bloom, and after an absence of twenty years, won- 
der at our return, to find her faded. 

We meet those whom we left children, and can scarce- 
ly persuade ourselves to treat them as men. 

From this inattention, so general and so mischievous, let 
it be every man's study to exempt himself. Let him that 
desires to see others happy make haste to give while his gift 
can be enjoyed, and remember that every moment of tlelay 
takes away something from the value of his benefaction. 

And let him, who purposes his own happiness, reflect, 
that while he forms his purpose the day rolls on, and the 
night Cometh when rio man can work. Johnson, 



Pitch Lake and Mud Lake. 355 

JVo. 102. Pitch Late and Mud Lake. 

In the island of Trinidad is a lake, which at first view 
appears to be an expanse of water, but is found to be an ex- 
tensive plain of mineral pitch, with frequent crevices or 
chasms filled with water. 

On its being visited in the autumnal season, the surface 
of the lake was of an ash-colour — not polished or smootli 
so as to be slippery, but of such a consistence as to bear 
any weight. 

In the summer season, however, the surface is much 
more yielding, and in a state approaching to fluidity. The 
chasms being filled with water in the wet seasons, present 
the only obstacle to walking over the surface. 

These cavities are in general deep in proportion to their 
width, many of them unfathomable. The water they con- 
tain is not contaminated by the pitch, and is the abode of 
many fishes. 

The main body of the lake is estimated at about three 
miles in circumfe'^ence. 

The following details relative to the volcanic springs of 
boiling mud in Java, are extracted from the Penang Ga- 
zette. Having received an extraordinary account of t\^^ 
Bliiddugs, as the .Javanese call tliem, a party set oft' to ex- 
amine them. 

" We found them," says the narrator, " to be an elevated 
plain of mud about two miles in circumference, in the cen- 
tre of which immense bodies of soft mud were thrown 'up 
to the height of ten or fifteen feet, in the form of bubbles, 
which, bursting, emitted great volumes of smoke. 

These large bubbles, of which there were two, continued 
throwing up and bursting seven or eight times in a minute ; 
at times they threw up two or three tons of mud. 

As the bubbles burst, they threw the mud out from the 
centre, with a pretty loud noise, occasioned by the falling of 
the mud on that which surrounded it, and of which the 
plain is composed. 

it was difiicult and dangerous to approach the large bub- 
bles, as the ground was all a quagmire, except where the 
surface had become hardened by the sun ; upon this, we 
approached cautiously to within 50 yards of one of the 
largest bubbles. Qlarke, 



256 Leviathan or Crocodile, 

JV*(9. 103. Leviathan or Crocodile. 

The Crocodile is supposed by modern writers to be the 
terrible animal mentioned in the book of Job by the name 
of Leviathan. 

"This animal," says Dr. Goldsmith, "grows to a great 
length, being sometimes found thirty feet long ; its usual 
length, however, is eighteen. 

" The strength of every part of the Crocodile is very great ; 
and its arms, both offensive and defensive, irresistible. 
The back bone is jointed in the firmest manner; and its 
whole form calculated for force. 

" Its teeth are sharp, numerous and formidable ; its claws 
long and tenacious ; but its principal instrument of des- 
truction is the tail ; with a single blow of this, it has often 
overturned a canoe, and seized its conductor.'' 

The doors of his face, who will tear open 
The rows of his teeth are terror : 
The plates of his scales, triumph ! 
His body is like emboss'd shields. 
They are joined so close one upon another 
The very air cannot enter between them. 
Each is inserted into its next ; 
They are compact and cannot be separated. 
His snortings are the radiance of light ; 
And his eyes, as the glancings of the dawn. 

Dr. Harris. 

Behold he yawns, the hideous valves disclose 
Death's iron teeth, embattled rows 6n rows. 
Proud o'er his mailed back, his scales are class'd 
Like serried shields, lock'd each in each so fast, 
And seal'd together, that no breath of wind 
Insinuates ; so close the plates are join'd. 
So solder'd that the stoutest force were vain 
To pierce the tight wedg'd joints, and burst the chain. 

Strength on his neck is thron'd ; whene'er he turns^ 
Woe springs before him, and the carnage churns. 



Archbishop Skarpe and the Robber. • 257 

His flesh coheres in flakes, with sinews barr'd, 
Compact as steel, indissolubly hard : 
His heart is from the quarry hewn, compress'd 
Hard as the nether mill-stone is his chest. 
The valiant tremble when he lifts his head, 
Down sink the mighty, impotent with dread. 

Scottt 



JVo. 104. Archbishop Sharpe and the 
Robber. 

It was a custom with Archbishop Sharpe in his journeys, 
generally to have a saddle horse attending his carriage, 
that in case of feeling fatigued with sitting, he might take 
the refreshment of a ride. In his advanced a^e, and a few 
years before his death, as he was going in this manner to 
his episcopal residence, and was got a mile or two in ad- 
vance of his carriage, a decently dressed, good looking 
young man on horseback came up to him, and with a trem- 
bling hand, and faultering tone of voice, presented a pistol 
to his Grace's breast, demanding his money. 

The archbishop, with great composure turned round, and 
looking stedfastly at him, desired that he would remove 
that dangerous weapon, and tell him fairly his condition* 
"" Sir, Sir," cried the youth with great agitation, " no words, 
'tis not a time for words now, your money instantly." 
'*' Hear me, young man," said the venerable prelate, "come 
on with me. i, you see, am a very old mafi, and my life is 
of little consequence ; yours seems far otherwise. 1 am 
Sharpe, the Archbishop of York ; my carriage and servejits 
are behind, but conceal your perturbations, and tell me 
who you are and what money you want, and on the 
word of my character, 1 will not injure you, but prove a 
friend. 

*' Here, take this, (giving him a purse of money) and now 
tell me how much you want, to make you independent of, 
so dangerous and destructive a course as you are now en- 
gaged in." " Oh, sir," replied the man, " 1 detest tue ba-* 



358 Archbishop Sharpe and tlie Mohhi's 

siness as much as you do ; I am — but — but — at home ther^ 
are creditors who will not wait ; fifty pounds, my lord, 
would indeed do what no thought or tongue besides my 
own can feel or express." 

" Well, sir, I take it at your word ; and upon my honor, 
if you will compose yourself for a day or two, and then 
call on me at — ^ — , what I have now given you shall be 
inade up that sum ; trust me, I will not deceive you." 

The highwayman looked at him, was silent, and went 
oif; and, at the time appointed, actually waited on the 
Archbishop, received the money^ and assured his lordship 
that he hoped his words had left impressions which no in- 
ducement could ever efface. Nothing more transpired of 
him for a year and a half; when one morning a person 
knocked at his Grace's gate, and with a peculiar earnest- 
ness of voice and countenance, desired to see him. 

The Archbishop ordered the stranger to be introduced. 
He had scarcely entered the room, when his countenance 
changed, his knees tottered, and he sunk almost breathless 
on the floor. On recovering, he requested an audience in 
private : this being granted, he said, " My lord, you can- 
not have forgotten the circumstance of relieving a high- 
wayman. God and gratitude will never suffer it to be 
obliterated from my mind. In me, my lord, you now be;; 
hold that once most wretched of mankind : but now, by 
your inexpressible humanitv, rendered equal, perhaps su- 
perior, to millions. Oh, my lord, 'tis you, 'tis you that have 
saved me, body and soul ; 'tis you that have saved a much 
loved wife, and a little brood of children, whoni I loved 
dearer than my own life. 

" Here, my lord, is the fifty pounds ; but never shall I 
find language to express what 1 feel ; God is your witness, 
yjDur deed itself is y6ur gloi^y ; and may heaven be your 
present and everlasting reward." The archbishop was re- 
fusing the money, when the gentleman added, *' My lord, I 
was the younger son of a wealthy man ; your Grace knew 
him, I am sure, my name is — -^ ; my marriage alienated 
the affections of my father, who left me to sorrow and 
penury. 

" My distresses — but your grace already knows to what 
they drove me^ A month since my brother died a bache- 



Golden Verses of Pythagoras ^59 

lor, and intestate; his fortune has become mine; and T, 
spared and preserved by your goodness from an ignomin- 
ious death, am now the most penitent, the most grateful, 
and the happiest of human beings.*' Percy Anecdotes. 

Shenstone the poet, and Rev. Rovyrland Hill, were each 
of them robbed, and each of them by kindness rescued his 
robber from impending destruction, and placed him in cir- 
cumstances to provide for himself and his family. 



JVo. 105. Golden Verses of Pythagoras, 

First, the Supreme doth highest rev'rence claim ; 
Use with religious awe his sacred name. 
Honor thy parents and thy next of kind ; 
And virtuous men wherever thou canst find. 

Useful and steady let thy life proceed. 
Mild every word, good natur'd every deed ; 
Oh, never with the man thou lov'st contend ! 
But bear a thousand frailties from thy friend. 

O'er lust, o'er anger, keep the strictest rein. 
Subdue thy sloth, thy appetite restrain. 
One way let aril thy words and actions tend. 
Reason their constant guide, and truth their end. 

Would'st thou be justly rank'd among the wise, 
Think ere thou dost, ere thou resolv'st, advise. 
Among the various ends of thy desires, 
'Tis no inferior place thy health requires. 
Firmly for this from all excess refrain. 
Thy cups be moderate, and thy diet plain. 
Each night, ere needful slumber seals thy eyes, 
Home to thy soul let these reflections rise ; 
How has this day my duty seen express'd ? 
What have 1 done, omitted, or trangress'd r 
Then grieve the moments thou hast idly spenti 
The rest will yield thee comfort and contents 



^60 A glorious example of Washington. 

Be these good rules thy study and delight. 
Practise bv day and ponder them by night; 
Thus all thy thoughts to virtue's height shall rise, 
And truth shall stand unveiPd before thy eyes. 

Fitzgerald, 



JV*(9. 106. A glorious example of 
Washington. 

In 1754, Washington was stationed at Alexandria with 
a regiment, of which he was Colonel. At an election for 
members of the Assembly, Washington was in favor of 
Colonel G. Fairfax, and Mr. W. Payne headed the friends 
4)f William Elzey. 

In the course of the contest, Washington grew warm^ 
and said something oifensive to Mr. Payne, who elevated 
his shelalah, and at one blow, extended our hero on the 
ground. 

News was soon carried to the regiment that their com- 
mander was murdered by the mob. In a moment the 
whole regiment was under arms, and in rapid motion to- 
wards the town, burning for vengeance. During this time 
Washington was so far recovered as to go out and meet 
his enraged soldiers, who crowded around him with joy to 
see him alive. 

After thank'ng them for such evidence of attachment, 
he assured them that he was not hurt, and begged them by 
their love to him and their duty, to return peaceably to 
their barracks 

Feeling himself the aggressor, he resolved to make Mr. 
Payne the honorable reparation of asking his pardon. Ear- 
ly "next morning he wrote a polite note to Mr. Payne, to 
meet him at the tavem. 

Payne took it for a challenge, and repaired to the tavern 
in full expectation of smelling gunpowder. But what was 
his surprize, on entering the chamber, to see in lieu of a 
brace of pistols, a decanter of wine and a pair of glasses 
on the table. 



A glorious example of Washington, 261 

Washington rose to meet hira, and offering his hand with 
a smile, began — " Mr. Pajne, to err sometimes is nature, 
to rectify error is always glorj : I believe I was wrong in 
the affair of yesterday; you have had, 1 think, some satis- 
faction, and if you deem that sufficient, here is my hand, 
let us be triends." 

An act of such sublime virtue, produced its proper ef- 
fect on the mind of Mr. Payne, who from that moment be- 
came the most enthusiastic admirer and friend of Wash- 
ington. Abridged from the Baltimore Patriot* 

REMARKS. 

" He that ruleth his own spirit is better than he who tak- 
eth a city." In the first instance Washington was over- 
come by his passions : but in the second, he was the 
conqueror. Of the many anecdotes of this great man, I 
recollect no one in which he appears to better advantage. 

In no other instance, perhaps, did he ever make a great- 
er display of true courage and magnanimity. Compared 
with the course which he adopted, how mean and contempt- 
ible would he have appeared, had he sought revenge bj a 
duel, and added sin to sin ! 

How cowardly and barbarous then is the conduct of 
duellists in general, when compared with the just, humane, 
and dignified conduct of Washington, in retracting his own 
wrong and presenting the hand of friendship to one who 
had rendered to him evil for evil— a severe blow for an of- 
fensive word. 

Let it be tlie care of Christians to give proper celebrity 
to such examples of magnanimity and self command- 
such elevation of mind above the influence of barbarous 
customs : then duelling and war will soon cease to be pop- 
ular, and be banished from the world, 

Lord, shall thy bright example shine 

In vain before my eyes ? 
Give me a soul akin to thine. 

To love my enemies. 

Watts. ' 



262 ^ Sleep. 

JVo. lOr. Sleep. 

Among the innumerable mortifications that way-lay 
human arrogance, may well be reckoned our ignorance of 
the most comm.on objects and effects. 

Sleep is a state in which a great part of every life is pas- 
sed. No animal has yet been discovered, whose existence 
is not varied with intervals of insensibility. 

Yet of this change, so frequent, so great, so general, and 
so necessary, no searcher has jet found either the efficient 
or final cause ; or can tell by what power the mind and 
body are thus chained down in irresistible stupefaction; or 
what benefits the animal receives from his alternate sus- 
pension of its active powers. 

Whatever may be the multiplicity or contrariety of opin- 
ions upon the subject, nature has taken sujfficient care that 
the theory shall have little influence on practice. 

The most diligent inquirer is not able long to keep his 
eyes open ; and once in twenty four hours the gay and the 
gloomy, the witty and- the dull, the clamorous and the sil- 
ent, the busy and the idle, are all overpowered by the gen- 
tle tyrant, and all lie down in the equality of sleep. 

Philosophy has often attempted to repress insolence by 
asserting, that all conditions are levelled by death. It is 
far more pleasing to consider that sleep is equally a level- 
ler with death. 

The time is never at a great distance, when the balm of 
rest shall be diffused alike upon every head, — when the di- 
versities of life shall stop their operation, and the high and 
the low shall lie down together. 

It is somewhere recorded of Alexander, that in the pride 
of conquests, and intoxication of flattery, he declared that 
he only perceived himself to be a man by the necessity of 
sleep. 

I know not what can tend more to repress all the pas- 
sions that disturb the peace of the world than the consider- 
ation that there is no height of happiness or honor, from 
which man does not eagerly descend to a state of uncon- 
scious repose. 



Sleep. 263 

All envy would be extinguished, if it were universally 
known that there are none to be envied, and surely none 
can be much envied wlio are not pleased with themselves. 

There is reason to suspect that the distinctions of man- 
kind have more show than value, when it is found that all 
agree to be weary alike of pleasures and of cares, and im- 
plore from nature's hand the nectar of oMivion. 

Alexarder himself added intemperance to sleep, and so- 
laced with the fumes of wine the sovereignty of the world ; 
and almost every man has so.ne art by which he steals his 
thoughts away from his present state. 

It is not much of life that is spent in close attention to 
any important duty. Many liours of every day are suffer- 
ed to fly away without any traces left upon the intellects. 

We suffer phantoms to rise up before us, and amuse our- 
selves with the demon of airy images, which, after a time, 
we dismiss forever, and know not how we have been busied. 

It is easy in these semi-slumbeis to collect all the pos- 
sibilities of happiness, to alter the course of the sun, to bring 
back the past, and anticipate the future, to unite all the 
beauties of all seasons, and all the blessings of all climates, 
to receive and bestow felicity, and forget that misery is the 
lot of man. 

All this is a voluntary dieam, a temporary recession 
from the realities of life to airy fictions, and habitual sub 
jection of reason to fancy. 

Johnson, 

Eternal Source, of every joy ! 

Well may thy praise our lips employ ; 

Whilst in thy temple we appear. 

Thy goodness crowns the circling year. 

Wide as the earth and planets roll. 

Thy hand supports and cheers the whole ; 

By thee the sun is taught to rise. 

And darkness when to veil the skies. 

The flowery spring, at thy command. 
Embalms the air and paints the land ; 
The summer rays with vigor shine. 
To raise tbe corn and cheer the vine. 



264 The Boa Comtnctof. 

Seasons and months and weeks and days 
Demand successive hymns of praise ; 
Still be the cheerful homage paid ; 
With morning light and evening shade. 

Liverpool Collection, 



JVo. 1C8. The Boa Constrictor. 

Among serpents, the Boa is distinguished by its vast 
size, as well as its prodigious strength It also claims su- 
periority by the beauty of its colors. 

It was in all probability an enormous specimen of this 
serpent which once threw a whole Roman army into dis- 
may. The fact is recorded by Valerius Maximus, who 
quotes it from one of the lost Books of Livy. 

Near Bagrada, in Africa, a snake was seen of so enor- 
mous a magnitude as to prevent the army of E-egulus from 
the use of the river ; and which after having snatched up 
several soldiers, and killed several others with his tail, was 
at length destroyed by military engines. 

It was regarded by the army as a more formidable ene- 
my than even Carthage itself. 

ihe whole adjacent region was tainted with the effluvia 
proceeding fram its remains, as w^ere the waters with its 
blood, so as to oblige the army to remove its station. 

The skin of this monster, measuring in length 120 feet, 
was sent to Rome as a trophy, and was there suspended in 
the temple, till the time of the Numidian war. 

Ye too in other climes who harmless rove 
In gilded scales, the guardians of the grove. 
In horrid Afric's pestilential air. 
Acquire new natures from the burning glare : 
Ride through the blaze of noon on sable wing, 
Quick on th' affrighted herds with fury spring. 
And gathering all your folds in wreathings dire. 
Bid the huge ox beneath your crush expire : 
Th' enormous elephant by force can slay. 
And need no poison to secure your prey. 

darkens JVonders* 



Means for diminishing crimes and miseries. 265 

Dr. Goldsmith says that destroying such monsters, 
" was the original occupation of heroes," and that those who 
thus *' obtained the name, gained it much more deservedly 
than their successors, who acquired their reputation only 
for their destroying each other." 

In later times those who acquired most renown as heroes, 
were themselves the great serpents of the earth — the de- 
vourers of their own species. 



J\*o. 109. Means for diminishing the 
Crimes and Miseries of Man. 

That crimes and miseries abound on earth, is well 
known in every country ; and whatever may tend to di- 
minish these evils should be ardently sought for by every 
philanthropist. 

As a great portion of human misery is the natural result 
of vices or crimes, those means which tend to diminish 
crimes, or promote virtue, will also tend to diminish the 
aggregate of human wretchedness. 

A general diffusion of the means of virtuous education, 
may justly be placed at the head of all the means for im- 
proving the condition of human society. 

To advance and diffuse these means should be a princi- 
pal object of pursuit with every human government — with 
all who are exalted to rule over men. 

In the next place, it should be the special care of those 
in authority, by their own temper and conduct, to' give ex- 
amples of true virtue to all within the circle of their 
influence. 

Evil examples of men in power are of the most perni- 
cious tendency. How can rulers reasonably expect that 
subjects will be orderly and virtuous, while their own ex- 
amples are adapted to lead them in the road to perdition. 

How odious it must be in the sight of a just God, to see 
rulers violate his iaws and the laws of the land, while for 
23 



266 Means for diminishing crimes and miseries, 

similar vices they punish their subjects with severity and 
perhaps with death. 

The same remark is applicable to wicked parents, who 
by their own e .amples lead their children into the very 
crimes for whic : they punish them. 

Let due attention be paid to forming the minds and ha- 
bits of the young ; let rulers and parents be examples of 
virtue, self government and benevolence ; then may it be 
expected that the crimes and miseries of mankind will 
rapidly diminish. 

Then too will the havoc of war be banished from the 
world, justice and beneficence will abound, and the future 
generations of men will be blessed with peace and hap- 
piness. 



If but one corse. 
With murders sign upon it, meet the eye 
Of pale discovery in the lone recess. 
Justice begins the chase : When high are piled 
Mountains of slain, the large enormous guilt. 
Safe in its size, too vast for laws to whip. 
Trembles before no bar. 

How long shall it be thus ? say Reason, say. 
When shall thy long minority expire ? 
When shall thy dilatory kingdom come ? 

Fawcett 

Ye who direct the social state. 
Which tauntingly ye civil call, ' 

Who whip the crimes yourselves create. 
Yourselves most criminal of all ! 

Instructed in this genial school. 
Mellow your crude, inclement plan, 
Copy mild Nature's gentle rule. 
And learn, like her, to smile on man. 

Fawcett, 



The Fulture^s farewell to her children, 267 

JV(9. 110. The Vulture's Farewell Lec- 
ture to her Children. 

Many naturalists are of opinion, that the animals which 
we commonly consider as mute, have the power of impart- 
ing their thoughts to one another. That thej can express 
general sensations is very certain ; every being that can 
utter sounds, has a different voice for pleasure and for 
pain. The hound informs his fellows when he scents his 
game ; the hen calls her chickens to their food by her cluck, 
and drives them from danger by her scream. 

Birds have the greatest variety of notes ; they have in- 
deed a variety, which seems almost sufficient to make a 
speech adequate to the purposes of a life which is regulated 
by instinct, and can admit little change or improvement. 
To the cries of birds, curiosity or superstition has been al- 
ways attentive ; many have studied the language of the 
feathered tribes, and some have boasted that they under- 
stood it. 

A shepherd of Bohemia has, by long abode in the forests, 
enabled himself to understand the voice of birds ; at least 
he relates v/ith great confidence a-story, of which the credi- 
bility is left to be considered by the learned. 
\ " As I was sitting," said he, " within a hollow rock, and 
watching my sheep that fed in the valley, I heard two vul- 
tures, interchangeably crying on the summit of the cliff. 
Both voices were earnest and deliberate. My curiosity 
prevailed over my care of the flocjk. I climbed slowly and 
silently from crag to crag, concealed among the shrubs, till 
I found a cavity where I might sit and listen without suf- 
fering or giving disturbance. 

" 1 soon perceived that my labour would be well repaid ; 
for an old vulture was sitting on a naked prominence, with 
her young about her, whom she was instructing in the arts 
of a vulture's life, and preparing, by the last lecture, for 
their final dismission to the mountains and the skies. 

" * My children,' said the old vulture, * you will the less 
want my instructions, because you have had my practice 
before your eyes ; you have seen me snatch from the farm 
the household fowl, you have seen me seize the leveret ia 



,268 _ The Vidtureh farewell to her children. 

the bush, and the kid in the pasture ; you know how to fix 
your talons, and how to balance your flight when you are 
laden with your prey. 

" • But you remember the taste of more delicious food : 
I have often regaled you with the flesh of man.' * Tell 
us,' said the young vultures, * where man may be found, 
and how he may be known ; his flesh is surely the natural 
food of a vulture. Why have you never brought a man in 
your talons to the nest V 

" * He is too bulky,' said the mother : * when we find a 
man we can only tear away his flesh, and leave his bones 
upon the ground.' * Since man is so big,' said the young 
ones, *how do you kill him ? You are afraid of the wolf 
and of the bear, by what power are vultures superior to 
man ? is man more defenceless than a sheep ?' 

" ' We have not the strength of man,' returned the 
mother, * and I am sometimes in doubt whether we have 
the subtlety ; and the vultures would seldom feed upon his 
flesh, had not nature, that devoted him to our uses, infused 
into him a strange ferocity, which I have never observed in 
any other being that feeds upon the earth. 

" ' Two herds of men will often meet and shake the 
earth with noise, and fill the air with fire. When you 
hear noise, and see fire, with flashes along the ground, has- 
ten to the place with your swiftest wing, for men are surely 
destroying' one another ; you will then find the ground 
smoking with blood and covered with carcasses, of which 
many are dismembered and mangled for the convenience 
of the vulture.' 

*' ' But when men have killed their prey,' said the pupil, 
'why do they not eat it? When the wolf has killed a 
sheep, he suff'ers not the vulture to touch it till he is satis- 
fied himself. Is not man another kind of wolf.' 

"' Man,' said the mother, ' is the only beast who kills 
that which he does not devour, and this quality makes him 
so much a benefactor to our species.' ' If men kill our prey 
and lay it in our way,' said the young one, * what need shall 
we have of labouring for ourselves ?' 

"'Because man will, sometimes,' replied the mother, 
* remain for a long time quiet in his den. The old vul- 



IP 



The Vulture's farewell to her children. 269 

tures will tell jou when you are to watch his motions. 
When jo\x see men in great numbers moving close to- 
gether, like a flock of storks, you may conclude that they 
are hunting, and that you will soon revel in human blood.* 

" ' But still,' said the young one, * I would gladly know 
the reason of this mutual slaughter. I could never kill 
what I could not eat.' * My child,' said the mother, * this 
is a question which I cannot answer, though 1 am reckoned 
the most subtle bird of the mountain. 

" * When I was young, I used frequently to visit the 
aerie of an old vulture, who dwelt upon the Carpathian 
rocks ; he had made manj^ observations ; he knew the 
places that afforded prey round his habitation, as far in 
every direction as the strongest wing can fly between the 
rising and setting of the summer sun ; he had fed year 
after year on the entrails of men. 

" * His opinion was, that men had only the appearance 
of animal life, being really vegetables with a power of mo- 
tion ; and that as the boughs of an oak are dashed together 
by the storm, that swine may fatten upon the falling acorns, 
so men are by some unaccountable power, driven one 
against another, till they lose their motion, that vultures 
may be fed. 

" * Others think they have observed something of con- 
trivance and policy among these mischievous beings ; and 
those that hover more closely round them, pretend, that 
there is, in every herd, one that gives directions to the rest, 
and seems to be more eminently delighted with a wide 
carnage. 

" * What it is that entitles him to such pre-eminence 
we know not ; he is seldom the biggest or the swiftest, but 
he shows, by his eagerness and diligence, that he is, more 
than any of the others, a friend to the vultures.' " 

Johnson* 



THE FIELD OF BATTLE. 



Well does the raven love the sound of war — 
Amid those plains where Danube darkly rolls, 
23^ 



270 Remarkable reformation of a Frince^ 

The theatres, on which the kingly play 

Of war is oftenest acted, there the peal 

Of cannon -mouths summons the sable flocks 

To wait their death-doom'd prey ; and they do wait : 

Yes, when the glittering columns, front to front. 

Drawn out, approach in deep and awful silence, 

The raven's voice is heard hovering between. 

Sometimes upon the far deserted tents 

She boding sits, and sings her fateful song. 

But in the abandon'd field she most delights. 

When o'er the dead and dying slants the beam 

Of peaceful morn ; and wreaths of reeking mist 

Rise from the gore-dew'd sward; from corpse to corpse 

She revels, far and wide ; then, sated, flies ' 

To some shot-shiver'd branch, whereon she cleans 

Her purpled beak ; and down she lights again. 

To end her horrid meal. 

Graham, 



JVb. 111. Eemarkable reformation of a 
Prince. 

The " Scots Magazine," for Jan, 1761, contains a Re- 
view of a work, entitled, "Introduction to the Art of 
Ihinkmg. ' Ihe following account is an abstract of a nar- 
rative quoted from that work. 

« Henry, Duke of Saxony, was by nature fierce and 
haughty, eager in his pursuits, impatient of disappointment 
or control. The outrages committed bv this prince were 
without end ; every thing was sacrificed"^ to his lust, cruelty 
and ambition ; and at hfs court, beauty, riches, honors be- 
came the greatest misfortunes. 

« His horrid enormities filled him with suspicion. At en- 
mity with every one and least of all at peace with himself, 
feeling the agonies of reproving conscience, which haunted 
him when waking, and left him not when asleep. 

"In a melancholy fit, under the impression of a wicked 
action recently perpetrated, he dreamed that the tutelar an- 



JtemarJcable reformation of a Prince. 211 1 

-gel of the countiy stood before him with anger in his looks, 
mixed with some degree of pity. Ill fated wretch ! said 
the apparition, listen to the awful command I bear. Upon 
this the angel reached a scroll of paper, and vanished. The 
scroll contained the following words — After sij(^. 

*' Here the dream ended ; for the impression it mado 
broke his rest. The prince awaked in the greatest conster- 
nation, deeply struck with the vision. He was convinced 
that the whole was from God, to prepare him for death — 
which he concluded v/as to happen in six months, perhaps 
in six days ; and that this time was allotted him to make 
his peace with his Maker, by an unfeigned repentence of 
all his crimes. 

"Thus, in the utmost torments of mind, six days, six 
"weeks, and six months passed away; but death did not 
follow. Now he concluded that six years were to be the 
period of his miserable life. Hitherto the supposed short- 
ness of his warning had not left it in his power to repair 
the many injuries he had committed, which was the great- 
est load upon his mind. Now he resolred to make the 
most ample reparation. 

"In this state of mind, when hope prevailed and some 
beams of sunshine appeared breaking through the cloud, 
he addressed his Maker" — in a solemn and fervent prayer. 
" His first endeavors were to regain the confidence of 
his nobles, and love of his people. With unremitting ap- 
plication, he attended to their good ; and soon felt that sa- 
tisfaction in considering himself as their father, which he 
never knew while he considered them as his slaves. 

After tasting such misery, how did he bless the happy 
change ! Now always calm and serene, diffusive benevo- 
lence gilded every thought of his heart, and action of his 
life. It was his delight to be seen, and to lay open his whole 
soul, for in it dwelt harmony and peace, 

" Fame blazed his virtues all around ; in distant re- 
gions was the good prince known, where his vices had never 
reached.— In all disputes, he was the constant mediator 
between sovereigns, and betwixt them and their subjects, 
and he gained more authority over neighboring princes by 
esteem and reverence, than they had over their subjects. 



272 Dialogue, 

" In this manner elapsed the six years, till the fatal pe- 
riod came. The vision was fulfilled ; but very differently 
from what was expected. For at this precise period, a va- 
cancy happening, he was unanimously elected EMPEROR of 

GERMANY." 

We are not disposed to encourage a superstitious res- 
pect to dreams ; but when a dream of a character so un- 
common is regarded and improved by the dreamer, as 
a divine admonition to him, to forsake the paths of vice 
and cruelty, and to adopt a course of active benevolence, 
the hand of God may justly be acknowledged. 

Happy will be the effects of this narrative, should it be 
the means of exciting unprincipled rulers suitably to re- 
flect on the benefits which would result to themselves, as 
well as to others, should they change their course, and act 
the part of just and htne^cent fathers. Let them duly re- 
flect on the admonitory message — *' *Bfter si^" — lest they, 
when weighed in the balances, should be found wanting. 



JVo. lis. Dialogue between Eomulus and 
Nunia Pompilias. 

(From Fenelon's ' Dialogues of the Dead.') 

Romulus. So, you have arrived at last. Your reign, my 
friend, has been a long one. 

JYuma Pompilius. Because it has been tranquil. The 
way, 1 found, to make it so, was to use the world kindly; 
never to misapply my influence ; to act in such a manner 
that none might wish for my death. 

R. Yes ! to live in obscurity, and die without glory. 
The display of authority has no attractions at this rate. 
According to you, it is equally idle to make a conquest, 
and to ketp it : to disregard death, and to be ambitious of 
immortality. 

JV*. P. W hat, let me ask, has befallen your immortality ? 
How comes it that I find you here? 



Dialogue. ^'^^ 

R. To speak the truth, the senate placed ine among the 
cods merely to rid themselves of my interference in their 
affairs as a mortal. They chose to deify me, rather than 
practise the obedience due to a king. 

J\*. P. Do you tell me the assertions of Proculus were 
false ? 

12. Proculus, who knew that nothing is easier than to 
make men credit what coincides with their wishes, when 
he saw the people disturbed by my death, contrived the fa- 
ble you allude to, in order to quiet them. 

JV. P. Thus without a doubt it was ; and instead ot 
gaining immortality, you died a violent death. 

i2. And yet on the other hand, altars were raised, priests 
appointed, sacrifices offered, and incense burned, in honor 

of me. 

JV. P. And what in truth are these things worth ? They 
have not hindered you from appearing in this place, where 
at the present moment you will probably allow that the 
happiness at least of a monarch is best founded on his 
moderation and justice, and the love of his subjects. 

R. If I mistake not, you did not handle the sceptre 
early in life ? 

JV*. P. No. It was well that T did not get into power, 
inexperienced and ignorant, at a time when the indulgence 
of the passions is most dangerous ; a misfortune to which 
you, who slew your brother in a fit of anger, and made your- 
self hated by your subjects, were exposed. 

i?. The faithfulness of a guard perhaps preserved you 
from a death like mine. 

JV. P. So far from that, my first act after ascending the 
throne, was to abolish those whom you had chosen, and 
distinguished by the name of Celeres. A man forced up- 
on the seat of royalty, who remains there actuated by no 
motive but that of doing good, and would willingly quit it 
at any time, can have little fear of being put to death like 
a tyrant. 

The people looked upon me as a friend and a father, 
and in their affection I confided for the safety of my pro- 
perty and peace, and therefore of my life. This confidence 
was mutual. 



274 The Mirage. ' 

R. Would jou have me suppose it was against jour will 
that JOU ascended the throne, when jou afterwards made 
use of the whole power the Romans had given jou, to im- 
pose upon them jour private principles of religion ? 

•A^. P. When their representatives came to me in mj 
retreat of Cures, I professed mj unfitness to govern a na- 
tion familiarized with conquest ; told them to seek another 
Romulus ; and added, that the manner of jour death and 
that of Tatius was enough to deter me from accepting their 
offer : moreover, I urged that I had not ever seen a single 
action. Nothing however would do but mj compliance, 
and I was made a king, but never departed from mj first 
plain, temperate mode of living, nor was known from mj 
fellow-citizens except bj the title of a sovereign. The 
Sabine and Roman states were so firmlj united bj the 
means I took, that few accidents will be able to divide 
them. 

R. Peace and afliuence onlj foster pride, rebellion, and 
dissoluteness in the people, and unfit them for incurring 
the fatigues and dangers of war. If it had so happened 
that jour territories had been attacked, what step would 
JOU have taken, who are unaquainted with arms ? 

jy. p. If I did not understand the art of war so well as 
JOU, I alwajs found it possible to avoid it, and I obtained the 
respect and esteem of mj neighbors. I gave the Romans 
laws that, enforcing probitj, industrj and sobriety, made 
them a match for anj opponent. 



JVo. 113. The Miras:e 



J!3' 



Dr. Clarke in his interesting travels, introduces the fol- 
lowing animated description of this phenomenon. Here, 
at the village of Utko, we procured asses for our partj, 
and setting out for Rosetta, began to recross the desert, ap- 
pearing like an ocean of sand, but flatter and firmer as to 
its surface, than before. 

I'he Arabs, uttering their harsh guttural language, ran 
chattering bj the side of our asses ; until som^ of them 



The Mirage, 275 

calling out " "Raschid !" we perceived its domes and tur- 
rets, apparently upon the opposite side of an immense lake 
or sea, that covered all the intervening space between us 
and the city. 

Not having in my own mind, at the time, any doubt as 
to the certainty of its being water, and seeing the tall min- 
arets and buildings of Rosetta, with all its groves of dates 
and sycamores, as perfectly reflected by it as by a mirror, 
insomuch that even the minutest detail of the architecture, 
and of the trees, might have been thence delineated, I ap- 
plied to the Arabs to be/ informed in what manner we were 
to pass the water. 

Our interpreter although a Greek, and therefore likely to 
have been informed of such a phenomenon, was as fully 
convinced as any of us that we were drawing near to the 
water's edge, and became indignant, when the Arabs main- 
tained, that within an hour we should reach Rosetta, by 
crossing the sands in the direct line we then pursued, and 
that there was no water. "What," said he, giving way to 
his impatience, " do you suppose me an idiot, to be per- 
suaded contrary to the evidence of my senses ?" 

The Arabs, smiling, soon pacified him and completely 
astonished the whole party, by desiring us to look back at 
the desert we had already passed, where we beheld a pre- 
cisely similar appearance. It was, in fact, the Mirage, a 
prodigy to which every one of us were then strangers, al- 
though it afterwards became familiar. 

Yet upon no future occasion did we ever behold this ex- 
traordinary illusion so marvellously displayed. The view 
of it afforded us ideas of the horrible despondency to which 
travellers must sometimes be exposed, who, in traversing 
the interminable desert, destitute of water, and perishing 
with thirst, have sometimes this deceitful prospect before 
their eyes. 

This appearance is often seen, when the sun shines, upon 
the extensive flat sand upon the shores of the Bristol chan- 
nel, in Somersetshire, and probably on the sea-shore in 
other parts of England ; the cause is, we believe, the evap- 
oration of water. 

darkens Wonders, 



276 The Man of Ross. 

JVo. 114. The Man of Ross. 

" But all our praises why should lords engross ? 
Rise, honest muse, and sing the man of koss." 

Pope, 

Mr. John Kyrl, so celebrated by Mr. Pope for his active 
benevolence as the Man of Ross, was a bachelor possessed 
of no more than five hundred pounds a year. 

^* Blush, grandeur, blush ! proud courts, .withdraw your 

blaze. 
Ye little stars, hide your diminished rays. 
Behold the market-place, with poor o'erspread. 
The man of Ross divides the weekly bread ; 
He feeds yon alms-house, neat, but void of state. 
Where age and want sit smiling at the gate. 
Him portion'd maids, apprentic'd orphans blest, 
The young who labor, and the old who rest 
Is any sick ? The Man of Ross relieves. 
Prescribes, attends, the medicine makes and gives. 
Is there a variance ? enter but his door, 
Balk'd are the courts, and contest is no more." 



Blest is the man whose tender heart 

Feels all another's pain ; 
To whom the supplicating eye 

Was never raised in vain. 

Whose breast expands with generous warmth, 

A stranger's woe to feel ; 
And bleeds in pity o'er the wound 

He wants the power to heal. 

To gentle offices of love. 

His feet are never slow ; 
He views, through mercy's melting eye, 

A brother in his foe. 



Progress of Public Opinion. 277 

Peace, from the bosom of his God, 

Peace shall to him be given ; 
His soul shall rest secure on earth. 

And find its native heaven. 

Mrs. Barbauld* 



JV*o. 115. Progress of Public Opinion. 

Public opinion in every country has a controlling influ- 
ence over laws, usages, and customs. In its progress, it 
first brings an inhuman law or custom into disrepute ; then 
causes it to be cancelled or abolished. 

But such are the prepossessions of men in favor of the 
opinions of their ancestors, that the progress of light is 
slow ; and few valuable improvements are made but at the 
risk of reputation, and the expense of encountering strong 
opposition. 

Still it is true that the progress of opinion has abolished 
many barbarous customs, which were once popular ; and 
caused many laws to be repealed which had long been 
deemed just and necessary, and rendered others ineflGl- 
cient which are sttll retained in statute books. 

Within a short time it has been publicly stated that the 
present criminal code of England contains more than two 
hundred capital felonies. Yet but a small number pf those 
laws can be executed, ©n account of the advances in pub- 
lic sentiment. 

In our own country many such laws have been long since 
repealed, or rendered nugatory. As light advances san- 
guinary laws and customs become more and more unpopu- 
lar and abhorrent. 

Of the many cruel customs and usages which the pro- 
gress of public opinion has abolished, or rendered odious, 
the following may be enumerated, as deserving particular 
attention. 

1. Offering human sacrifices, to appease the anger, or to 
procure the favor of supposed offended deities. In ancient 
times this practice prevailed in England and in all the Eu- 
ropean countries. 
24 



278 Progress of Public Opinion. 

2. There was a time when the ordeal of fire or water 
was thought to be a rational and just method of determin- 
ing whether an accused person was innocent or guilty. 
An accused person must take up a stone sunk in boiling 
water, or carry red-hot iron to a certain distance. If after 
three days his hand was found to be injured, he was deem- 
ed guilty ; if not injured, he was deemed innocent. 

3. The Judicial combat, or duel, was also instituted for 
a similar purpose, or to decide which of two persons was 
guilty, the accused or the accuser. The person who fell 
in the combat was supposed to be guilty, while his mur- 
derer was deemed innocent. 

4. In Europe, propogating the gospel by the sword was 
for a considerable time regarded as a laudable practice ; 
and a minister of the gospel could acquire glory by march- 
ing at the head of an army with the Bible in one hand, and 
the murderous sword in the other. 

5. Punishing men, and even burning them to death, for 
supposed errors in religious opinions, was long a popular 
custom in Christendom, as well as among pagans. Mil- 
lions, perhaps, of professed Christians have perished by the 
hands of each other, in consequence of this monstrous 
delusion. 

6. In the reign of Henry VII, the people of England, — 
the country of our ancestors — had a regular market for the 
sale of their children to their Irish neighbors. At a much 
later period the African slave trade was popular in Europe 
and America. 

7. For a long period private wars among the barons or 
noblemen of Europe prevailed to a great extent. If two 
barons of the same kingdom had a quarrel, they would arm 
their respective families, tenants, and vassals and decide 
their contest by the sword — just as the barbarous rulers of 
Christian nations have done in our own times. 

8 Some of tlie cruel laws and usages of national war, 
have also been abolished by the progress of public senti- 
ment. Killing captives v/as once deemed honorable ; it is 
now practised only by barbarians. Enslaving captives 
w^as for ages deemed just and reasonable. This practice is 
wholly abolished in all civilized countries. 



The Shepherd's Way to Wisdom. 279 

All these savage customs have sunk into disrepute 
and contempt in the esteem of the wise and good of all 
Christian nations. So much has been effect d by the pro- 
gress of public opinion, the influence of Christian princi- 
ples, and the exertions of humane and enlightened men. 

There are however many barbarous laws, usages, and 
customs which are still popular among the most civilized 
nations. But what has already been effected affords just 
ground of hope, that the progress of public opinion will 
gradually abolish all sanguinary laws and customs. 



Xo. 116. The Shepherd's Way to 
Wisdom. 

The daily labors of the bee 
Awake my soul to industry. 
Who can observe the careful ant 
And not provide for future want 1 
My dog (the truest of his kind) 
With gratitude inflames my mind ; 
I mark his true his faithful way. 
And in my service copy Tray. 
In constancy and nuptial love, 
I learn my duty from the dove. 
The hen, who from the chilly air. 
With pious wing protects her care. 
And every fowl that flies at large. 
Instructs me in a parent's charge. 

From nature, too, I take my rule 
To shun contempt and ridicule. 
I never with important air, 
In conversation overbear : 
Can grave and formal pass for wise. 
When men the solemn owl despise ? 
My tongue within my lips I rein, 
For who talks much must talk in vain : 
We from the wordy torrent fly : 
Who listens to the chattering pie ? 



280 Time. 

Nor would I with felonious fliglit, 

Bj stealth invade my neighbor's right : 

Rapacious animals we hate : 

Kites, hawks, and wolves deserve their fate. 

Do not we just abhorrence find 

Against the toad and serpent kind ? 

But envy, calumny, and spite. 

Bear stronger venom in their bite : 

Thus every objec:t of creation 

Can furnish hints for contemplation. 

And from the most minute and mean, 

A virtuous mind can morals glean. 

Gay, 



^o, 117. Time. 

Who needs a teacher to admonish him 

That flesh is grass ?— That earthly things are mist ? 

Wiiat are our joys but dreams ? and what our hopes 

But goodly shadows in the summer cloud ? 

There's not a wind that blows but bears with it 

Some rainbow promise : not a moment flies 

But puts its sickle in the fields of life. 

And mows its thousands, with their joVs and cares 
lis but as yesterday since on yon stars, 

VVhich now I view, the Chaldee shepherd ffaz'd 
in his mid -watch observant, and disposed 
The twinkling hosts as fancy gave them shape. 

let m the interim what mighty shocks 
Have buffeted mankind,— whole nations raz'd-» 
Cities made desolate, — the polish'd sunk 
To barbarism, and once barbaric states 
Swaying the wand of science and of arts; 
Illustrious deeds and memorable names 
Blotted from record, and upon the tono-ue 
Of grey tradition voluble no more. ^ 

Where are the heroes of the ages past ? 
Where the brave chieftains, where the mighty ones 



Clement and his Son Zima, 281 

Who fiourishM in the infancy of days ! 

All to the grave gone down. On their fallen fame 

Exultant, mocking at the pride of man. 

Sits grim For getf illness. — The warrior's arm 

Lies nerveless on the pillow of its shame ; 

Hush'd is his stormy voice, and quench 'd the blaze 

Of his red eye-ball. — Yesterday his name 

Was mighty on the earth—To day — 'tis what ? 

The meteor of the night of distant years, 

That flash'd unnoticed, save by wrinkled eld. 

Musing at midnight upon prophecies. 

Who at her lonely lattice saw the gleam 

Point to the mist-pois'd shroud, then quietly 

Clos'd her pale lips, and lock'd the secret up 

Safe in the charnel's treasures. 

H. K. White, 



•JV1o. 118, Clement and his Son Zirna. 

Clement. My son, I rejoice to see you ; but why this un- 
expected visit ? Has any misfortune happened to you ? 

Zima. No misfortune. Sir, has occurred to me ; I came 
from a sense of duty to consult you on a subject of impor- 
tance. I have the offer of a Captain's commission in the 
regular army ; the emoluments of the office I need ; and 
should 1 be fortunate, the honor may be worth something to 
me and mine. 

C. Your filial respect is gratifying ; and you know, my 
son, I have not been in the habit of needlessly opposing 
your inclinations. 1 cannot, however, say that I am willing 
you should assume the profession of the warrior. It is 
true that I had formerly an esteem for the military profes- 
sion, as necessary and honorable ; but I now regard war 
with horror, as totally antichristian. 

Z I did not expect to hear such sentiments from my 
father. You must have reasons for such a change in your 
views, which have not occurred to my mind, it is, how- 
ever, certain that while there are wars, there must be war- 
24-^ 



28^ Clement and his Son Zima, 

riors, and should I decline, another will accept the com- 
mission. 

C. It is equally true, my son, that while there is gam- 
bling, robbery, and murder, there must be gamblers, rob- 
bers, and murderers. But should all men refuse to engage 
in such enterprizes, what would be the consequences ? 

Z, The consequences must involve the abolition of 
those enormities. But I hope my father does not rank the 
feats of war with such atrocious crimes. 

C. I doubt not, my son, that your feelings revolt at the 
thought of adopting any of these courses of private and un- 
popular wickedness, and had I been seasonably enlight- 
ened, so as to give you a thorough Christian education, I 
think you would have felt an equal aversion to becoming 
a professed warrior. 

Z. I hope I have no such thirst for money or fame, as 
will prevent a proper deference to your advice, or due at- 
tention to any light you may offer on the subject of war ; 
but I am not a little surprised at your remarks. 

C I will endeavour to illustrate some of my views 
more clearly. Your house stands near the line which sep- 
arates the United States from Canada. If, during your 
absence, a gang of robbers from Canada should kill your 
hired men, your children, your wife, and, having plundered 
your property, should consume your buildings by fire, — 
what would be your views of their conduct ? 

Z. The case, sir, is too horrible for contemplation. The 
perpetrators of such deeds must be monsters in the scale 
of wickedness. 

C. Suppose then that on some pretext a war should be 
proclaimed between Great Britain and the United States, 
and that a regiment of military men should cross the line 
and commit just such acts of violence and outrage, as was 
supposed to be done by the gang of robbers : would the 
injury and the injustice be less, for having been done by 
military men, and by order of their government. 

Z. In either case the calamity would be dreadful, and 
such as I hope never to endure. 

C. Why then, my son, would you accept a commission 
to prepare men to iniict such evils on others ? War is 



Clement and his Son Zima, 283 

usually carried on by a course of havoc and rapine, as per- 
fectly unjust as would be the slaughter of your family 
and the devastation of your property by a gang of rob- 
bers. 

Z. But have not rulers a better right to make war than 
private individuals ? 

C. They doubtless think they have such a right, but I 
do not see any source whence it could possibly be derived. 
If private individuals do not possess such a right for them- 
selves, they surely cannot delegate such a right to their 
rulers, however many might combine for the purpose ; and 
the God of heaven has required rulers, as well as other 
men, to love their neighbors as themselves. The com- 
mands, " Thou shalt not kill" — " Thou shalt not steal," 
are as obligatory on kings as on any other class of men. 

Z. Still it is a fact that rulers do wage war; and when a 
war is declared, are not military ofiBcers and soldiers free 
from blame in killing and destroying, according to the 
orders of government ? 

C. if rulers have a right to wage war whenever 
they please, and soldiers are guiltless in obeying their 
bloody mandates, it will follow that the whole human race 
might be exterminated by their wars on each other, and 
yet no one be guilty of murder, or any violation of the 
law of love. 

Z. I cannot deny the correctness of your reasoning ; 
and principles which admit of such consequences must be 
founded in delusion. 1 shall cheerfully decline the prof- 
fered honors and emoluments, and free you from anxiety 
on my account. But how awful the delusions which have 
prevailed on this subject ! On both sides of a contest, the 
pleas of justice and necessity are urged with confidence, 
and each glories in the slaughter of the other. 

C. It is equally true that each party has accused the 
other of injustice, robbery, and murder ; and these mutual 
accusations have been much better founded than their mu- 
tual pleas oi justice and necessity* 



284 Anecdotes of Humanity, 

JVo. 119. Address to Mothers. 

Hear, ye fair mothers of our isle. 
Nor scorn your poet's homely style. 
You judge it of important weight. 
To keep your rising offspring straight, 
For this such anxious moments feel. 
And ask the friendly aids of steel ; 
For this import the distant cane. 
Or slay the monarch of the main. 

And shall the soul be warp'd aside 
By passion, prejudice, and pride ? 
Deformity of heart I call 
The worst deformity of all. \ 

Your cares to body are confin'd ; 
Few fear obliquity of mind. 
Why not adorn the better part \ 
This is a nobler theme for art. 
For what is form, or what is face. 
But the soul's index, or its case ? 

Now take a simile at hand. 
Compare the mental soil to land. 
Shall fields be till'd with annual care. 
And minds lie fallow every yeari^^ 
Oh, since the crop depends on you. 
Give them the culture which is due : 
Hoe every weed, and dress the soil. 
So harvest shall repay your toil. 



Cotton, 



JVo. ISO. Anecdotes of Humanity. 

The Areopagites or Senators of Athens being assembled 
in the open air, a sparrow pursued by a hawk flew into the 
bosom of one of them for refuge. He seized the little 
trembler and threw it from him with such violence that it 
was killed on the spot. 

The whole assembly, filled with indignation, arraigned 
hioi as destitute of that mercy which is necessary to the 



The Mimic or Mocking Bird, 285 

administration of justice, and degraded him from the sena- 
torial dignity, which he had so disgraced. 

Alphonso, King of Naples, celebrated for his clemency, 
was once asked why he was so favorable to all men, even 
those notoriously wicked. He answered, " Good men are 
won by justice ; the bad by clemency." 

On another occasion, when some of his ministers com- 
plained to him of his lenity, he exclaimed, " What, then ! 
would you have lions and tigers to reign over you ? Knov/ 
you not that cruelty is the attribute of wild beasts — Clem- 
ency that of Man ? 

In the reign of Charles IX> orders were sent to the seve- 
ral Governors of France to put to death all the protestants 
in their respective districts. One catholic governor, whose 
memory will ever be dear to humanity, had the courage to 
disobey the cruel mandate, and to write thus in a letter 
to the king : — 

" Sire, [ have too much respect for your majesty, not 
to persuade myself that the order I have received must be 
forged ; but if — which God forbid — it should be really 
your order, I have too much respect for the personal cha- 
racter of my sovereign to obey it." 

A Russian, suspected of having wilfully set fire to a 
house, was doomed to the torture, and expired under its 
torments. Alexander was no sooner acquainted with the 
circumstance, than he published an edict, by which the 
torture is for ever abolished in Russia. 

The Duke of Orleans, being appointed Regent of France, 
insisted on possessing the power of pardoning. " I have 
no objection," said he, "to having my hands tied from 
doing harKtii but I will have them free to do good.^^ 

Percy Anecdotes. 



JVo. 131. The Mimic or Mocking Bird. 

The plumage of this bird has nothing gaudy or brillian 
in it ; but his figure is well proportioned and even hand 



286 The Mimic or Mocking Bird. 

some. The ease, elegance, and rapidity of his movements, 
the animation of his eye, and the intelligence he displays, 
in listening and laying up lessons from almost every spe- 
cies of the feathered creation, within his hearing, are really 
surprising. 

To these qualities we may add that of a voice full, 
strong, and musical, and capable of almost every modula- 
tion. In the measure and accent, he faithfully follows his 
originals. In force and sweetness of expression, he greatly 
improves upon them. 

In his native groves, while the woods are already vocal 
with a multitude of warblers, his admirable song rises pre- 
eminet over every competitor. The ear can listen to his 
music alone, to which that of the others seems a mere ac- 
companiment. Neither is this strain altogether imitative. 

His native notes, which are easily distinguishable, are 
bold and full, and varied seemingly beyond all limits. 
They consist of short expressions of two, three, or at the 
most five or six syllables, generally interspersed with imi- 
tations, and all of them uttered with great emphasis and 
rapidity, and continued for half an hour or an hour at 
a time. 

His expanded wings and tail, glistening with white, and 
the bouyant gaiety of his action arresting the eye, as his 
song most irresistibly does the ear, he sweeps round with 
enthusiastic ecstacy. 

While exerting himself, a bystander, destitute of sight, 
would suppose that the whole feathered tribe had assem- 
bled together on a trial of their skill, each striving to pro- 
duce his utmost effect, — so perfect are his imitations. 

He many times deceives the sportsman, and sends him 
after birds which, perhaps, are not within miles of him, but 
whose notes he exactly imitates. Even birds themselves 
are frequently imposed on by this admirable mimic, and 
are decoyed by the fancied calls of their mates. 

In his domesticated state, when he commences his career 
of song, it is impossible to stand by uninterested. He whis- 
tles for the dog; Cesar starts up, wags his tail, and runs to 
meet his master. He squeaks out like a hurt chicken, and 
the hen hurries about with hanging wing and bristled feath- 
ers, clucking to protect her injured brood. 



The ivild Boar and the Ram. 287 

The barking of the dog, the mewing of the cat, the 
creaking of a passing wheelbarrow, follow with great truth 
and rapidity. He repeats the tune taught him by his mas- 
ter, though of considerable length, fully and faithfully. 

He runs over the quiverings of the Canary, and the clear 
whistlings of the Virginia Nightingale, or Red -bird, with 
such superior execution and effect, that the mortified song- 
sters feel their own inferiority and become silent, while 
he seems to triumph in their defeat by redoubling his ex- 
ertions. 

Abridged from Jl. Wilson. 



INGENUITY OF BIRDS, 

It wins my admiration, 
To view the structure of that little work — 
A bird's nest. Mark it well within, without. 
No tool had he that wrought, no knife to cut. 
No nail to fix, no bodkin to insert. 
No glue to join : his little beak was all, 
And yet how neatly finished ! What nice hand 
With every implement and means of art. 
And twenty years' apprenticeship to boot. 
Could make me such another ? Fondly then 
We boast of excellence, whose noblest skill 
Instinctive genius foils. — 

Village Curate, 



JVo. 122. The Wild Boar and the Ram 

A FABLE. 

Against an elm a sheep was tied, 
The butcher's knife in blood was dyed ; 
The patient flock, in silent fright, 
From far beheld the horrid sight : 
A savage Boar, who near them stood. 
Thus mock'd to scorn the fleecy brood* 



288 Pliny's Eulogy of the Earth. 

All cowards should be serv'd like you. 
See, see, your murderer is in view ! 
With purpled hands and reeking knife. 
He strips the skin yet warm with life : 
Your quartered sires, your bleeding dams. 
The dying bleat of harmless lambs. 
Call for revenge, O stupid race ! 
The heart that wants revenge is base. 

I grant, an ancient Ram replies. 
We bear no terror in our eyes ; 
Yet think us not of soul so tame, 
W^hich no repeated wrongs inflame. 
Insensible of every ill. 
Because we want thy tusks to kill. 

Know those who violence pursue, 
Give to themselves the vengeance due; 
For in these massacres they find 
The two chief plagues that waste mankind. 
Our skin supplies the wrangling bar ; 
It wakes their slumb'ring sons to war ; 
And well revenge may rest contented. 
Since drums and parchment were invented. 

Gay, 



Xo. isa. Pliny's Eulogy of the Earth. 

" It is the earth that, like a kind mother, receives us at 
our birth, and sustains us when born. It is this alone of 
all the elements around us, that is never found an enemy 
to man. 

The body of waters deluge him with rains, oppress him 
with hail, and drown him with inundations ; the air rushes 
in storms, prepares the tempest, or lights up the Volcano. 

But the Earth, gentle and indulgent, ever subservient to 
the wants of man, spreads his v/alks with flowers, and his 
table with plenty ; returns with interest every good com- 
mitted to her care. 



Plinyh Eulogy of the Earth. 239 

And though she produces the poison, she still supplies 
the antidote ; though constantly teazed more to furnish the 
luxuries of man than his necessities, yet, even to the last, 
she continues her kind indulgence, and when life is over, 
she piously hides his remains in her bosom." 

^ ^ JVat Hist 



In view of this Eulogy of the Earth, the following lines 
from a poem called " Vicissitude'' may be properly intro- 
duced : — 

Detested War ! thy desolating strife 
Sprinkles with blood the gloomy walks of life. 
'Tis thy delight to hear the orphan cry, 
And to behold the widow's heaving sigh. 
To see the father and the husband bleed. 
And look with pleasure on each murd'rous deed ; 
Famine and S'ckness are to thee allied. 
And Guilt and Outrage riot at thy side ; 
Grim Devastation moves at thy command. 
And turns a paradise to heaps of sand ! 

Ye Sons of Adam ! when shall Reason's ray 
Prompt you to drive the demon war away, 
And cultivate the sacred arts of Peace, 
That smile to see the human race increase ? 
O say, does mother earth (too scant of room) 
Compel to chase our neighbours to the tomb? 
Millions of acres yet untill'd remain. 
In forest-wilds, on common, heath and plain ; 
Where undisturb'd the timid wild fovv'l flies, 
And the sweet flow'ret flourishes and diesj 
Or is it that the high born sons of pride 
Hate to behold an equal by their side ? 
Vicissitude can bring their greatness down. 
And mould to dust the sceptre and the crown. 
O'er humble life a royal robe can fling. 
And lead the shepherd to become a king. 

Millhouse, 
25 



290 A Paraphrase on Psalm lxxiv. 

JVo. 124. A Paraphrase on Psalm 
LxxiY. 16. 17. 

« The day is thine, the night also is thine." 

My God ! all nature owns thy sway. 
Thou giv'st the night, and thou the day ! 
When all thy lov*d creation wakes, 
When morning, rich in lustre, breaks. 
And bathes in dew the opening flower. 
To thee we owe her fragrant hour ; 
And when she pours her choral song. 
Her melodies to thee belong ! 
Or when, in paler tints array'd. 
The evening slowly spreads her shade > 
That soothing shade, that grateful gloom. 
Can more than day's enlivening bloom 
Still every fond and vain desire. 
And calmer, purer thoughts inspire ; 
From earth the pensive spirit free. 
And lead the soften'd heart to thee. 

In every scene thy hands have dress'd 
In every form by thee impress'd, 
Upon the mountain's awful head. 
Or wh«re the shelt'ring woods are spread, 
[n every note that swells the gale. 
Or tuneful stream that cheers the vale. 
The cavern's depth, or echoing grove, 
A voice is heard of praise, and love. 
As o'er thy work the seasons roll. 
And sooth, with change of bliss the soul. 
Oh never may their smiling train 
Pass o'*er the human scene in vain ! 
But oft, as on the charm we gaze, 
Attune the wond'ring soul to praise ; 
And be the joys that most we prize 
The joys that from thy favor rise ! 

Miss Williams, 



Curiosities of Chili. 291 

JV^o, ±25. On Gaming. 

Whence sprung th' accursed lust of play, 
Which begj;ars thousands in a day ? 
Speak, sorc'ress speak, for thou canst tell, 
Who call'd the treacherous card from hell : 
Now man profanes his reas'ning pow'rs. 
Profanes sweet friendship's sacred hours ; 
Abandon'd to inglorious ends. 
And faithless to himself and friends ; 
A dupe to every artful knave. 
To every abject wish a slave : 
But who against himself combines. 
Abets his enemy's designs. 

When rapine meditates a blow. 
He shares the gudt who aids the foe. 
Is man a thief who steals my pelf — 
How great his theft who robs himself! 
Is murder justly deem'd a crime ? 
How black his guilt who murders time ! 

Cotton. 



JVo. i2ij. Curiosities of Chili. 

Salt River. In Copiapo, one of the provinces of Chili, 
there is a river, called from its saltness Salado, which has 
its source in the Andes, and falls into the Pacific Ocean. 

The water of this river is very clear and extremely salt; 
and its specific gravity is, according to the season of the 
year, from fifteen to eighteen degrees. 

The salt crystallizes naturally upon the shores ; it is ex- 
cellent and fit for use without any preparation, as it is very 
pure and not mixed with calcareous earth, or any hetero- 
geneous salt. 

Salt springs, and Salt plain. In a valley of the Andes, 
inhabited by the Pehuenches, are eleven springs of very 
clear and limpid water, which overflows the surface, and 
becomes crystallized into salt as white as snow. 



292 Curiosities of Chili. 

This valley is about 15 miles in circiuiiference, and is^ 
entirely cwered, for the depth of six feet, with a crust of 
salt, which is collected by the inhabitants in large pieces 
and used for all domestic purposes. 

Salt Flard. In the province of St. Jago is found a spe- 
cies of wild hasil. — This plant continues to increase in 
growth from the first opening of spring to the commence- 
ment of winter, and is every morning covered over with 
saline globules that are hard and shining. 

The husbandmen collect and make use of this salt instead 
of the common kind, vv^hicli it far exceeds in taste. Each 
plant produces daily about half an ounce,— a phenomenon, 
the cause of which i am not able to explain, as it grows in 
a very fertile soil, exhibiting no other appearance of salt, 
and at more than sixty miles from the sea. 

Transparent Fish. The river Talten, which waters the 
Araucanian provinces, produces a small fish called paye, 
v^hich, as 1 have been assured by those who have seen 
them, is so diaphanous, that if several are placed upon 
each other, any object beneath them may be distinctly 
seen. 

The gre<tt Spider, This is found in the vicinity of St. 
Jago, and lives under ground. The body is as large as a 
hen's egg, and covered with soft hair. The claws are 
very long and large. In the middle of the forehead are 
four large eyes, disposed in the form of 'd square, and at 
the sides of the head two others that are less. 

The mouth is furnished with two pincers of a shining 
black, about two lines in length, turned back towards the 
forehead. Notwithstanding this formidable appearance, 
this spider is not dangerous, and serves as an amusement 
for children. 

2'he Penguin. This bird, on the part of the feathered 
tribe, forms a link of union between birds and fishes, as the 
flying-fish does on the part of the finny race. 

The i'eet are palmated like those of a duck, but its plu- 
mage is so fine that it appears more like hair than feathers ; 
and instead of wings it has two pendant fins, covered with 
very short feathers resembling scales, which are of great 
use in swimming, but much too small for the purpose of 
fiyinii. 



The Village Preacher. 2^3 

It is of the size of a common iliick, but its neck is much 
longer. It walks in an erect posture with its head ele- 
vated like that of a man, keeping it in constant motion to 
preserve its equilibrium. This gives it, at a distance, the 
appearance of a child just beginning to v;alk— whence the 
Chilians denominated it the Ciiild bird. 

T/ie Condor or Manque. The bird known in Peru by 
the name of Condor, is in Chili called Manque. It is un- 
questionably the largest bird which has the power of sup- 
porting itself in the air. 

Linneus makes its wings, when extended, sixteen feet 
from one extremity to the other; but the largest that I 
have seen was but fourteen feet and some inches. Its bo- 
dy is much larger than that of the royal eagle. 

The beak is four inches long, and \evy large and crooked. 
The greater quills of the v/ings are usually two feet nine 
inches long, and one third of an inch diameter. The foot 
^s furnished with four toes — the hindmost of whicii is but 
about two inches long. The middle toe is nearly sis 
inches long, and is terminated by a crooked whitish nail 
of two inches; — the other toes are a little shorter, arnie^ 
Avith strong and crooked talons. 

MolilKh 



JVo. 1S7. The Village Preaclier. 

Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, . 
And still where many a garden flower grows wild ; 
There, where a few torn shrubs tlie place disclose. 
The village preacher^s modest mansion rose. 
A man he was, to all the country dear. 
And passing rich with forty pounds a year ; 
Remote from tov>'ns he ran his godly race, 
Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change his place ; 
Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power, 
By doctrines fashioned to the varying iiour ; 
Fat other aims his heart had learned to prize, 
More bent to raise the v/retched tlrnn to rice. 

25* 



S94 The Village Treacher. 

His house was known to all the vagrant train, 

He chid their wand'rings, but relieved their paint 

The long remembered beggar was his guest. 

Whose beard descending swept his aged breast ; 

The ruined spendthrift now no longer proud, 

Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed. 

Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, 

And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; 

Careless their^ merits or their faults to scan. 

His pitv gave ere charity began. 

'J'hus to relieve the wretched was his pride. 

And even his failings leaned to virtue's «ide ; 

But in his duty prompt at every call. 

He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all ; 

And as a bird each fond endearment tries. 

To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies ; 

He tried each art, reproved each dull delay. 

Allured to brighter worlds and led the way. 

Beside the bed where parting life was laid. 
And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismayed, 
The reverend champion stood. At his control. 
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ; 
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise^ 
And his last falt'ring accents whispered praise. 
At church, with meek and unaffected grace. 
His looks adorned the venerable place ; 
Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway. 
And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray. 
The service past, around the pious man, , 
With ready zeal, each honest rustic ran ; 
Ev'n children followed with endearing wile. 
And plucked his gown to share the good man's smile., 
Hi'i ready smile a parent's warmth exprest, 
Their welfare pleased him, and their care distrestj 
To them his heart, his love, his griefs Were given. 
But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. 
As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form. 
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, 
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread. 
Eternal sunshine settles on his head. 

Goldsmith. 



The Thumb. 295 

JVo. 1S8. The Thumb. 

The whole frame of the human body so clearly evinces 
design, and, of course, an All-Wise Designer, that atheism 
would appear the extreme of folly, if even there were no 
other arguments to confute it, than those which are in a 
manner forced upon us whenever we take a careful sur- 
vey of ourselves. 

rhe mechanism of the eye is marvellously complex, and 
yet nothing in it is superfluous; every part bearing a 
necessary and obviaus relation to the purpose for which it 
was formed. Nor is the mechanism of the ear less adapt- 
ed in every part to the design of its formation. These 
wonderful organs of sense are given to us, however, in 
common with the lower animals, of which there are some 
that far excel us in clearness of sight and quickness of 
hearing. 

But the human body lias one appendage, which belongs 
not to any of the brutal creation, and which evidences de- 
sign or contrivance, as clearly as the eye or the ear : I 
mean the Thumb. This puny limb, which is seldom no- 
ticed by poet or philosopher, has been the main stay of the 
human family, in all ages and countries. 

Had the human body lacked this little limb of labor, 
man would have been the most helpless of all animals 
and indeed the whole race must nearly have perished 
thousands of years ere the present time. He neither could 
have tilled the ground, nor drawn a fish from the water. 

He neither could have felled the forests, nor furnished 
himself with weapons of defence against the ferocious 
beasts with which they are inhabited. He would have 
been alike incapable of making and of using any of the 
instruments necessary for his sustenance, clothing or de- 
fence. 

Suppose the thumb and that only, had been overlooked 
in the general contrivance of the human body, suppose 
that all the organs and members of the body, and particu- 
larly the handfi, were exactly as they are now, save that 
instead of four fingers and a thumb, there were five fingers 
standing parallel to each other ; the body, in that case, 
v/ould have been a machine wonderfully curious, but utter- 
ly inadequate to the purposes of human life. 



296 The Thumb, 

Suppose further, that as a recompense for the want of a 
thumb, man had been gifted with a double or treble portion 
of intellect; he, notwithstanding, must have been helpless 
and wretched ; for it would be out of the power of finite 
intellect to supply that deficiency, or even so much as to 
provide for the mere necessary wants of the body. 

Man upon his expulsion from paradise, was cast into a 
wilderness world, and a wilderness it must have remained 
to this day, but for the thumb upon the hand. He was 
commanded to subdue the earth, and was authorized to 
have dominion over the beasts of the field ; — things as 
much out of his power, had he been thumbless, as arrest- 
ing the stars in their courses. 

But this feeble being, through the constant aid of the 
thumb, what wonders has he wrought ! See the forests he 
has felled ; see blooming gardens, and fields waving with 
golden wheat ; see villages, towns, cities, the spacious and 
v/ell-finished tenements of man ; see his convenient and 
comely attire, the fulness of his cup and the comforts of 
bistable; see thousands of ships proudly traversing ^the 
ocean, freighted with the superfluities of some countries 
for the supply of the wants of others ; see the finer works 
of art, pictures, statuary, engravings, embroidery : — see all 
these and a thousand other things, and you will recognize 
in every one of them the agency of the thumb. 

Nay all our books of Divinity, Law, Physic, Surgery, 
History, Biography, Philosophy, Poetry, or of whatever 
name or description, were first thumbed out by the labori- 
ous penman of them. So true is it, that as the hand is 
instrument to all other instruments, it is the thumb chiefly 
that ministers ability to the hand. 

The thumb points to duty, its admirable contrivance 
manifests both the wisdom and the goodness of the Con- 
triver. It plainly shows at the same time, that man is 
destined by his Maker to employments of manual labor ; 
and, consequently, that manual labor, so far from being a 
reproach to him, is one of the essential duties of his nature 
and condition, and ought rather to be held in honor than 
disgrace. 

And if there be some exceptions, they include but a very 
diminutive proportion of the human family; for, of the 



Fareuell to Younsr Readers, 297 



"ti 



whole world, there are not more perhaps than a hundredth 
part, who are fairly exempted, by rank, or fortune, or men- 
tal occupations, from the necessity of laboring with their 
hands. 

Sucking the thumbs is a proverbial phrase, denoting a 
total neglect of employing them in any useful way, answer- 
able to the design for which they were made. A great 
many of this " untoward generation" have the naughty 
trick of sucking their thumbs ; — a great many, too, whose 
circumstances imperiously demand a better use of them. 

It is a pitiful practice, whether in man or woman ; 
directly leading to poverty and want, and, not un frequently, 
to the worst of vices. Parents and tutors should keep a 
sharp look out, lest their boys and girls get into this way, 
so dangerous to their morals, so deadening to all their 
faculties, and so destructive to their future prospects in 
life. 

But there is one use of the thumb, that is infinitely 
worse than not using it at all ; it is employing it in spread- 
ing ^road falsehood and moral poison, with the pen, and 
with the type. It were far better to be born without 
thumbs, than to use them so abominably. 

Sampson* 

The above is from a well-written and excellent American pub- 
lication, called " The Brief Remarker" — a work worthy to be read 
in every school and every family. 



JVo. IS 9. Farewell to Young Readers. 

On parting or taking leave, men are in the habit of say- 
ing to each other — Farewell, This is often done without 
much consideration of the import of the word, and as little 
concern for each other's welfare. 

At other times and by other persons, the ardent desires 
of the soul are expressed in this short, comprehensive, 
parting address ; and a sincere prayer is implied for what- 
ever may be necessary to happiness. 



298 Farewell to Young Readers, 

In taking leave of you, my young readers, I wish to re^ 
mind you of some of the great principles on whicK your 
present and future welfare must depend. 

As God, your heavenly Father, is the source of all the 
blessings which can make you happy, your first and your 
constant care should be, to honor and please him — by obe- 
dience to his commands, by avoiding whatever he forbids, 
and by a grateful improvement of his mercies. 

Under the wise government of God duty and enjoyment 
are so connected, that "In keeping his commandments 
there is. great reward" — great happiness; while the way of 
transgressors is hard, and leads to ruin. 

Your happiness depends much more on your possessing 
a pious, benevolent, and candid mind, than on great wealth 
and worldly honors. " For a man's life — or happiness — 
consisteth not in the abundance of the things which hepos- 
sesseth" — not in what is about him, but what is in him. 

Men are formed to be active in doing good one to 
another. We have such constitutions that activity and 
industry conduce to the health both of body and mind, — 
while idleness and dissipation tend to enervate all our 
powers, diminish our happiness, and ruin our souls. 

For many reasons [ would recommend, that you make 
the precepts and the example of Jesus Christ so familiar to 
your minds, that they shall on all occasions occur as a 
light, to^uide you in the path of duty and safety. 

So cordial was his devotion to God, that he could say — 
" It is my meat and drink to do the will of him that seiit 
me.-' So fervent was his love to mankind, that he " went 
about doing good," and found it " more blessed to give 
than to receive." 

Though he was always engaged in doing good, he was* 
not always well treated by men. But such was his meek- 
ness, benevolence, and self-command, that " when he was 
reviled, he reviled not again." In no instance did he ren- 
der evil for evil, but sought the good of all, even those who 
derided him while suffering on the cross. 

I can wish you nothing more important, than that " the 
same mind be in you which was in Christ Jesus." Such 
a temper would prepare you for all the trials of life, insure 



Farewell to Young Readers. 299 

pleasure in doing good, render jou blessings in the world, 
and prepare you for the society of heaven. 

Thouo-h now in the bloom of youth, your life is even as 
a vapor,^ which appeareth for a little time, and then van- 
isheth away. Early religion will prepare you for early 
death, or a useful life. God will be your friend, and make 
all things work for your good. 

Should it be the lot of any of you to be poor, still the 
temper of Christ will render you " rich in good works," 
and dispose you to lay up " treasures in heaven," far more 
important than worldly possessions. 

Or if riches shall be your lot, such a temper will direct 
you to employ them for making others happy ; it will also 
enable you to enjoy their happiness, or to be comforted in 
their comfort. This is perhaps the most Godlike felicity 
that can be enjoyed by men. 

You will have opportunity to witness both good and bad 
examples, and from both you may derive profit to your- 
selves. When you shall see men or women, old or young, 
losing the confidence and respect of their neighbors by any 
course of vice, take warning, and resolve to avoid habits 
which thus injure others. 

But when you see any one commanding the confidence 
and esteem of all around him, by his diligence, integrity, 
honesty, fidelity, and beneficence ; then resolve, that you 
will " go and do likewise.** 

Some persons are remarkable for a mixture of good and 
bad qualities in their characters. Of one and another of 
these, you will hear it said by good people — '' He might be 
one of the most amiable and useful men, were it not for 
this or that vice ; — what a pity it is that he should so in- 
jure his reputation and usefulness !" 

Such remarks you should regard, as designed by Provi- 
dence for your admonition ; and beware lest you expose 
yourselves to similar observations. Never content your- 
selves with your attainments in virtue, while any one vice 
is indulged— while any one sin has dominion over you. 

" He that ruleth his own spirit is better than he that 
taketh a city" — more worthy of honor and esteem. A 
victory over your own passions and vices, will eventually 



300 Farewell to Youns: Readers, 



"to 




afford you more pleasure, and secure to you more deservecf^ 
esteem, than was acquired by Alexander in all his bloody 
and boasted achievements. 

To possess the good opinion of the communities to 
which you severally belong, may be regarded as desirable; 
because it affords opportunity for greater usefulness. But 
the approbation of God and your own consciences, is of far 
more value than the praise of men. 

Human applause is too dearly purchased when it is 
obtained by a violation of moral principle, or an ignoble 
compliance with the whims of party spirit, or the caprice 
of fashionable vices. He who by such means seeks popu- 
lar favor, exposes himself to the displeasure of that God 
who can easily turn such glory into shame. 

In a few years, such of you as may be saved from early 
death will occupy the places of those who are now the 
fathers and mothers in society. And what does the Lord 
require of you in any situation of life, but " to do justly, to 
love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God ?" 

This comprehends all he requires of any one ; and this 
he requires of every one. A due regard to these require- 
ments, if general among men, would fill the world with 
love, peace and joy, — and give to society on earth a glori- 
ous resemblance to the society of heaven, 

A compliance with the counsels which have now been 
suggested, will be of infinite importance to you as individ- 
uals, to the several societies of which you may be mem- 
bers, and to the generations which shall succeed you in the 
world. With ardent desires that you may pursue such 
a course to usefulness and felicity, I now bid you — 
Farewell* 

Like leaves on trees the race of man is found, 

Now green in youth, now withering on the ground. 

Another race the following spring supplies, 

They fall successive, and successive rise ; 

So generations in their course decay, 

So flourish these, when those are past away 



Pope. 



FINIS. 



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